


Catch me when I fall

by 6Darkest6Angel6



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anorexia, Anorexic Dean, Dean Has Nightmares, Dean Has an Eating Disorder, Dean has depression, Dean-Centric, Depression, Eating Disorders, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fainting, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hospitalization, Hurt Dean Winchester, Nightmares, Pneumonia, Protective Bobby Singer, Protective Sam Winchester, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Sick Dean Winchester, Suicidal Thoughts, Worried Bobby, Worried Sam, psychological torment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-19
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-02-17 23:53:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 100,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2327717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/6Darkest6Angel6/pseuds/6Darkest6Angel6
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>S2. Dean has barely been eating since their dad died 5 months ago, which leads to him passing out after a hunt. Sam and Bobby finally realise how much he has been struggling since John's death, and try to help him<br/>Sick!Dean. Worried/Protective!Sam/Bobby.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

[ ](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/darkest_angel13/63838265/5510/5510_original.jpg)

Late at night, in the middle of a muddy cemetery, Dean and Sam were standing side by side, watching as the last flames licked the side of the grave of a serial killer who continued killing even after his death.

When the flames died out, and the grave was filled back in, Dean smiled up at his brother. "That went well," he said as Sam picked up the shovel. "Another successful salt and burn."

Sam looked at him, and laughed when he saw his clothes were caked in mud after the spirit had developed a new hobby of throwing the older Winchester around the cemetery.

"Well? Dean, you look like you've had a bath in mud."

"That was actually part of the plan," said Dean with a sidelong look at Sam. He took a deep breath, trying to ignore the sudden wave of dizziness that washed over him.

"Yeah. Sure it was, Dean," said Sam with another laugh. His face became serious when Dean suddenly came to a stop, blinking rapidly. "Dean, are y-? DEAN!" he yelled, dropping everything to catch his brother when his legs gave way. He caught Dean when he started falling backwards, and lowered him the rest of the way to the ground, holding his upper body in his arms. "Dean, hey. Can you hear me?"

After a minute, Dean's eyes fluttered open. "Why am I down here?" he asked, frowning up at Sam.

Sam sighed in relief, trying not to think of how light Dean seemed in his arms. "You passed out. You scared the hell out of me. Are you okay?"

"Passed-" Dean looked around them. "I didn't pass out. I just... suddenly fancied sunbathing."

"Yeah sure. Dean, it's 9 at night. By the way, who sunbathes in the middle of a cemetery at night?"

"A Vampire?" suggested Dean with a shrug. "Ooh ooh, the Undertaker."

Sam shook his head, and tried not to smile at Dean's childlike answer. He decided not to ask about how someone could sunbathe when there was no sun. "Are you hurt?" Sam didn't wait for an answer, he started running his hand over Dean's body, frowning when he felt Dean's ribs through his shirts.

"Stop feeling me up, you perv," said Dean as he shoved Sam's hand away, and tried to get up.

"When was the last time you ate?"

Dean sat up, and started rearranging his layers of clothes, trying to ignore the gnawing pain in his stomach that had been getting worse in the past few weeks. "I didn't write it down, so I don't remember the exact time."

"Dean, be serious. I can feel your ribs, so just give me a straight answer," said Sam, holding onto Dean's arms.

"Okay, mother. I ate breakfast this morning. You were there. Now let me go." Dean shrugged away from Sam, and slowly stood up.

Sam thought back to that morning at breakfast. "Dean, you ate about two or three mouthfuls of toast... then rushed off to the bathroom to get dressed." Come to think of it, Dean had barely been eating recently.

Dean bent down to get the bag, refusing to look at his brother, knowing the real reason for running to the bathroom. "Yeah, thanks Inspector Gadget. Now move your ass, I need a shower."

Sam picked up the flashlight and shovel, then followed after him. As they walked back to the car, he kept shooting worried glances at his brother, noticing for the first time how different Dean's face looked; it was thinner than it used to be.

'I'm probably worrying over nothing,' thought Sam, but the thought did nothing to ease his worry.

When they reached the Impala, the brothers put the stuff in the trunk of the car. Dean then grabbed his duffel bag and suddenly started taking his clothes off.

"Dean, what the hell are you doing?"

Dean finished taking his over-shirt off, but he left his many t-shirts on. "Oh, I just decided to start a career in stripping. What the hell do you think I'm doing?" He opened his bag, and took out some clothes to change into. "There's no way I'm sitting in my baby with these clothes. I cleaned her yesterday."

"Pass me the keys, I'm driving," Sam told him, holding his hand out.

Dean finished putting his jeans on, and buckled his belt. "No way, Sam. You're not driving my car. I'm fine."

"Do I need to remind you that you passed out five minutes ago? You're in no condition to drive. Now give me the keys."

"I didn't pass out. I'm fine, get in the car."

"Okay, fine. What if you decide to 'sunbathe' while you're driving? Will you be such a smartass if you crash the car?"

"Fine. Here," Dean said with a growl, throwing the keys at his brother.

Sam smiled, watching Dean stomp around to the passenger side, like a big kid throwing a tantrum. He slid into the driver's seat, and turned to look at Dean who had his box of tapes on his knees.

"Before you say anything, I'm not listening to your crappy music. We listen to proper music in this car, whether I'm driving or not," Dean told him, choosing a tape.

As Sam started the car, 'Highway to hell' started blaring from the cassette player.

"Home, bitch," Dean said over the music as the two of them drove back to Bobby's.

**TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning when Sam woke up, the first thing he did was check on Dean. He frowned when he saw the empty bed. "Dean?"

Walking downstairs, he checked in the living room, before checking the kitchen, where he saw Bobby sitting at the table reading the paper, and drinking coffee. "Where's Dean? Is he okay?" asked a worried Sam when he didn't see his brother anywhere.

"Good morning to ya too, Sam." Bobby looked up at Sam's face, and sighed. "He's out in the garage, messing with one of the cars."

Sam looked at his watch. "It's only 8.30. Did you see him? Did he look okay to you? Did he say anything?"

"What the hell is the matter with ya?"

"I don't know," said Sam, taking a seat at the table. "Dean... he passed out last night after we finished up... and he... I could feel his ribs through his shirt, Bobby. He isn't eating right, and that's not like him."

"Now ya mention it, he refused breakfast when I offered him some. He made up some crap about already eating, even though he'd just got out of bed."

Sam sighed, and went to the fridge. "I'm making him some breakfast whether he wants some or not."

"What are ya going to do? Tie him to the chair, and force him to eat?"

"If I have to," he answered, getting out the frying pan.

"Sam, ya can't force yer brother to do something he doesn't want to do," said Bobby, walking over to stand in-front of the younger man.

"What do we do then, Bobby? Just sit back and watch as he starves himself? I don't think so. He's my brother, it's my job to take care of him." Sam took a deep breath, and looked out of the window, so Bobby didn't see the tears in his eyes.

"It's our job, ya mean. I'm not saying we do nothing. But ya know as well as I do that Dean Winchester doesn't like to be forced to do anything. Make breakfast, I'll go talk to him."

"Thanks Bobby."

* * *

Out in the garage, Dean was trying to figure out what the trouble was, when he felt a hand on his shoulder, making him jump and hit his head. "OW! SONOFABITCH! he yelled, before turning to look at Bobby. "Dude, what the hell?"

"I wanted to talk to ya."

"A warning would've been nice," said Dean, rubbing his sore head. "I can't exactly talk if I'm sparked out on the floor, can I?"

"Sorry about that." Bobby leaned against the car, so he was beside Dean. "Sam's making breakfast. Do ya want to come in? He's making bacon sandwiches. I know ya like them."

Dean avoided looking at Bobby as he rubbed his stomach. "I'm not really hungry. I'll have something later, I'm fine."

"That's crap, and we both know it. These clothes..." Bobby tugged on Dean's shirt sleeve. "Which normally fit are too baggy, and Sam told me about ya passing out last night."

"Can we talk about something else? Ooooh look a bird." Dean pointed outside where a magpie was outside the garage door.

Bobby rolled his eyes when Dean tried to change the subject. "I don't care about a frigging bird. I care about..." He sighed. "Ya may not care about yerself, but me and Sam do. Now yer coming in that house if I have to drag ya myself."

"Okay dude, chill. Can I-"

Bobby grabbed Dean's arm, and started walking back to the house.

"Hey, hands off the merchandise." Dean shrugged off Bobby's hand, and started walking. When he got to the kitchen, his eyes went straight to the sandwich on the plate. "I forgot I left something outside." He turned to go back out, but Bobby turned him back, and sat him in the chair.

"Sit," said Bobby, putting his hands on the young man's shoulders.

"What am I? A fricking dog?" Dean shrugged the hands off, and took a deep breath. He looked at Sam with a forced smile. "T-This looks... great."

Sam smiled back, but Bobby could still see the worried look in his eyes.

The two watched Dean pick up the sandwich in both hands. He held it for a minute, before he put it back down again, his stomach knotting painfully. "I can't... I'm not hungry."

"Please, Dean," said Sam, almost begging. "You need to eat, you're too skinny. Is something wrong? Is that why you won't eat?"

Dean glared at the two. "There's nothing wrong with me," he said, knocking the chair over as he stood. "Except you two being a pain in the ass."

"If there's something wrong, you can tell us. We're your family," said Sam with tears in his eyes.

"THERE'S NOTHING WRONG WITH ME!"

"Calm down, son," said Bobby, reaching out a hand to touch Dean's shoulder.

Dean recoiled from the touch. "DON'T TOUCH ME!" he yelled, before running out of the door.

The two men stood side by side as they listened to the Impala drive out of the yard. "Well, that went well."

* * *

 Sam had been waiting for Dean for two hours now, and he was getting worried. "Maybe I should go look for him."

"He'll come back when he's ready, Sam." Bobby wouldn't admit it, but he was just as worried as Sam.

"Yeah but he..." Sam stopped when he heard the car. "Oh thank god," he whispered, closing his eyes in relief. He sank into the wooden chair at the table, and waited for Dean to come in.

The door shot open, slamming back against the wall, and in walked Dean. "Hey Sammy," he said with a big grin on his face.

"Are you alright?" asked Sam, surprised at the sudden change in his brother.

Dean's eyes narrowed for a second, before he smiled again. "Never better, Sammy boy."

Sam looked at him more closely, and saw the reason he seemed in such a good mood- he was drunk. "Have you been drinking?"

"Who are you, my mother?" Dean staggered over to the sink, and poured himself a glass of water.

"Dean, you shouldn't drink and drive. What if you crashed the car?" asked Sam, walking over to stand in-front of him.

"I won't... I'm a good... I'm a go-" Dean stopped, and swallowed a few times, before throwing up all over Sam.

"That's disgusting," said Sam, taking hold of Dean's arm to lead him into the living room.

Dean tried to shrug Sam's hand off him. "Get the... h-hell off me. I don't need... need your help." He managed to get away from Sam, but staggered too far to the left, and ended up on the floor. "Whoa. How did I get down here? Ooh, the floors fluffy."

Sam rolled his eyes when Dean curled up into a foetal position on the carpet. "Dean, will you get up?" He took Dean's arm again, and led him to the couch.

Dean blinked up at him. "Ooh, you have... long hair, Sam," he said, reaching up to touch Sam's hair, but he moved away. "Awww. Big meanie."

"I'll be back in a minute." Sam turned to leave the room to go change his clothes, and tried not to laugh when he heard Dean behind him.

"Ooh. Look at my hand. SAM! LOOK AT MY HAND! Wow," Dean whispered in amazement.

Sam bit his lip, and almost ran out of the room. When he came back several minutes later, Dean was out cold. He checked on him, before going back into the kitchen where Bobby was still sitting at the table.

"How is he?" asked Bobby when Sam sat down.

"He's out for now. I just..." Sam sighed, and ran his hand through his already messy hair. "I don't know what to do. This isn't like him... First he's not eating, then he's getting drunk."

"Yer right. The only time I've known him to drink is when there's something bothering him."

"I'm going to sit with him for a bit," said Sam, standing up to see to his brother. He stood at the living room door, and watched him sleep for a minute, before grabbing the trashcan and his black hoodie, and going to sit in-front of the couch.

"Hey Dean." Sam covered Dean up with the hoodie to keep him warm, and ran his fingers through the dark blond hair. "I don't know what's wrong, but I'm here to help you," he whispered, smiling when Dean leaned into his hand which was now on the sleeping man's face.

* * *

**-That night-**

* * *

Sam woke up after three hours of sleep. He flicked on the lamp, and looked over at Dean's bed, which was empty. "Dean?" he whispered, before he climbed out of his own bed, and went searching for his wayward brother.

After searching the house, he finally found him in the kitchen with the light off. "Dean, are you okay?" asked Sam, going to sit with him. "Dean?" He reached out to touch Dean's arm when he didn't answer him.

Dean jumped at the sudden contact, and stared at Sam with wide eyes. "Sam?" He cleared his throat, and tried to act as if nothing was bothering him. "What are you doing up, Sammy?"

"I could ask you the same thing. Are you hungry?"

"No. I just couldn't sleep, that's all," answered Dean, staring at his hands.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"There's nothing to talk about. I'm fine," he whispered, rubbing his stomach with his left hand, as the stabbing pain began again. 

"You're not fine Dean," said Sam, seeing the wince cross Dean's face. "There's something wrong. If you ever want to talk, I'm always right here... you know that, don't you?" He saw the expression on Dean's face as he brought his left hand back up to join the right. "Don't say you're fine. I know you're not. It's..." Sam paused to wipe his eyes to stop his tears. "I'm worried about you. And so is Bobby."

Dean didn't say anything, he just continued staring at his hands.

"We're not going to bother you unless you want to talk to us first, okay? Whenever you want to talk, even if I'm asleep, you can wake me up."

Dean finally looked at Sam. "I..." He paused for a minute. "I'm going to bed," he said, before standing up.

"Okay," said Sam, trying to hide his disappointment as he stood up and joined him. "But remember what I said."

As the two brothers walked back up the stairs in silence, Sam kept his hand on Dean's shoulder, smiling when it wasn't shrugged off.

The two made it to their room, and climbed into their beds. "Hey Sam?"

"Yeah?" asked Sam, turning to look at Dean.

Dean was silent for a minute. "Thanks," he whispered, before laying back down, and turning away from Sam.

"You're welcome, Dean."

**TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

Four days later, Dean still wasn't eating. Sam and Bobby were getting more worried. "He can't keep going like this," said Sam, chewing on his fingernail.

"I know, Sam. He's starting to look like a walking skeleton with skin."

Sam was about to reply when they suddenly heard thudding sounds in the hallway. "DEAN!" yelled the two men, running in the direction of the stairs where they found Dean laying in a heap at the bottom of the stairs.

"Oh god," whispered Sam as he ran over, and knelt beside his prone brother. "Dean, can you hear me?"

Dean groaned, and tried to sit up. "Don't move, son. Ya just fell down the stairs," said Bobby, putting his hand on Dean's shoulder to prevent him from moving.

"I'm fine. I felt a little dizzy, that's all." Dean slowly sat up, and put his hand over his face. When he removed the hand, he looked surprised when he saw Sam and Bobby watching him worriedly. "What?"

Sam's eyebrows shot up. "What? Are you kidding? You look like a bag of bones, and you fell down the stairs. And you just say 'what'?"

"What the hell do you want me to do? Come out with a speech?" said Dean, getting up slowly. He grit his teeth at the agony that gripped his stomach and seemed to get worse day by day.

The other two men shook their heads at the stubborn older Winchester.

Sam stood with him, and grabbed his arm. "Sam, get off me." Dean tried shrugging the hand off him, but Sam wasn't moving from his side, instead he wrapped his other arm around his thin waist as they made their slow way over to the couch.

Sam lowered his brother down into a sitting position, and sat beside him. "Are you sick? Tell me the truth," he said, staring at Dean with a serious expression.

"I'm not sick. I felt a little dizzy, and fell down a couple of stairs."

"But what if you felt dizzy at the top, and fell down and broke your neck? You probably felt dizzy because you haven't eaten in days. Now tell me the truth."

"I promise you, I'm not sick. If I was sick, you'd probably see me going to the docs or something," Dean tried to reassure his brother.

"Yeah right. You probably wouldn't go to the doctors if your arm was hanging off. You'd probably say 'it's just a scratch'. So if you're not sick, then why aren't you eating?" Sam folded his arms, he wasn't moving until Dean answered him. "It can't be a curse or anything, because we haven't been separated during a hunt for months, and it hasn't been going on that long." At least he didn't think it had.

"Sam, will you calm down? I'm okay."

Bobby sighed, and joined the two. "Yer not okay, Dean. I know it, yer brother knows it, and I think ya know it too."

"You promise me you're not sick?" asked Sam quietly, sounding like a child.

"I'm not sick, Sam. I promise. I swear on the Impala, I'm not sick."

Sam looked at Bobby, who shrugged. There's no way Dean would swear on that car, and lie about something. "Okay then. But there's got to be a reason for you not eating, the only things I can think of are... Curse, sickness, depression or an eating disorder."

"Sam, I'm not sick, cursed, depressed, and I'm not a teenage girl. So that leaves nothing." Dean turned away from his family. "There's nothing wrong with me. I'm fine, just leave me alone."

Bobby and Sam looked at each other again. The younger Winchester took a deep breath, and fought the tears that threatened to build up. Dean was usually always strong, and it was hard and heartbreaking to see him like this. "Dean, look at me."

Dean took a deep breath, and turned to face his brother and his second father.

"You're not fine, Dean. You can't be completely fine, and not eat for no reason. And we're not going to sit back and let you starve to death, let us help. Please Dean."

"I'm fine. What do I have to do to prove it? Start doing a happy dance? Because that would be weird any day of the week," said Dean, trying to sound like his old self.

"Listen to yer brother, Dean. Let us help ya." Bobby watched him carefully, in-case he took off again. "Yer like a son to me, and we can't sit back and watch ya being like this. Yer breaking my heart, kid."

"I just can't," Dean whispered quietly, looking down at his bony hands.

"You can't what? Eat?" Sam swore Dean looked like a little boy right now. He wanted nothing more than to pull him into his arms, and give him a hug, but he knew he would probably get a smack in the face for it.

"Dunno," replied Dean, playing with his sleeve. "I... I can't do this. I have to..." He suddenly stood up, breathing shakily, his eyes overflowing with tears.

Sam stood, and held onto Dean's arms to stop him from running again. "Hey, hey. Calm down, Dean." He lowered Dean gently down onto the couch. 'Oh hell with it,' he thought, and gently wrapped his arms around him.

Dean surprised them both by allowing it. He closed his teary eyes, and melted into Sam's arms as he broke down.

"I got you, Dean. I got you, big brother." 

* * *

 

Sam continued holding Dean until he heard his breathing even out. "Dean?" he whispered, looking down at his brother, smiling when he saw he had fallen asleep in his arms.

"Do ya want me to help ya take him upstairs?"

"No." Sam stood for a second with Dean in his arms and his eyes widened when he felt how light he was. "Oh my god. Kids would probably weigh more than Dean right now," he said quietly to Bobby, sitting back on the couch, adjusting Dean so he was laying comfortably in his arms.

"Do ya need anything, Sam? I'm going out to the garage."

"No. I'm okay for now, Bobby," said Sam, looking down at his sleeping brother. "I'll call you when he wakes up."

Bobby nodded, but he seemed reluctant to leave his boys. "If he needs anything, let me know," he told Sam, before walking out.

Sam didn't hear Bobby, he was too busy staring down at Dean. "You're going to be alright, Dean. You have me and Bobby to take care of you. And I'm not going to let you down."

Dean started shivering, and snuggled closer to Sam's chest. The younger Winchester leaned forward, and took off his jacket and laid it over him. "There you go," he whispered, running his fingers over Dean's protruding cheekbone. His eyes teared up when he put his hand under Dean's layers of shirts to feel how skinny he was. "Oh my god," he whispered when he realised he could count each rib with his fingertips, he could also feel Dean's hipbones standing up like stones on a deserted beach.

"You can't keep doing this Dean. If you don't start eating, you're going to die." Sam closed his eyes, no longer able to hold back the tears. He rocked Dean gently in his arms, his tears falling down his cheeks and into Dean's hair.

That was how Bobby found them when he came in to check on them fifteen minutes later. "What's wrong, Sam? Is he alright?" he asked, rushing over to them.

Sam jumped, and sat up straight. "Don't do that," he sighed when he saw it was only Bobby. "You could wake him up... he needs sleep." Sam stroked the side of his brother's face gently when he flinched. "Shh. It's alright, Dean. Just sleep. I'm right here."

"No. No fire."

"What the hell is he dreaming about?" asked Bobby.

"I don't know. But thank god he's not dreaming about girls."

"Yeah. That would be awkward."

Sam looked at Dean for a few more minutes, before he turned to Bobby. "We have to do something. I mean we've probably burnt bones that have more meat on them than Dean right now."

Bobby sighed, and looked at the sleeping Winchester. "I know. If he doesn't start eating within the next few days, we'll have to get him some help."

"What do you mean... hospital?" asked Sam, holding Dean even closer.

"We've got no choice, Sam. I know Dean would probably hate us for it, but at least he'll be alive."

Sam stared at Dean for several seconds, before answering. "I know. With the way Dean's been acting, it seems like he could be depressed. He hardly sleeps, or eats. But with the demon almost killing him, and dad dying for him... I can't exactly blame him. But he can't keep going like this."

Bobby cleared his throat, and decided to tell Sam something that had happened a few weeks ago. Dean had told him not to say anything, but now he had no choice. "Er... Sam. There's something I need to tell ya." He waited until he had Sam's attention. "A couple of weeks ago... after breakfast, I heard Dean being sick in the bathroom. He told me he was hung over, but now with all this I'm not so sure."

"Being sick? Isn't that what people with eating disorders do?" asked Sam, frowning. "But he can't have both, right?"

Bobby shrugged. "I did a bit of research, and read that some people who are depressed stop eating, some comfort-eat, some harm themselves. Maybe Dean stopped eating properly, but... I don't know... maybe it just developed... ya know?"

Sam was silent for a minute as he thought about what Bobby told him. It made sense with the way Dean had been acting recently. He was about to reply when Dean moaned as if he was in pain, and he jerked slightly with a gasp, his eyes shooting open. "Dean?"

Dean frowned as he woke up and saw that he wasn't back in the cabin. "What the hell am I doing here?" He looked around, and jumped in surprise when he saw Bobby staring down at him. "Dude, what the hell? You both watching me sleep now? That's just creepy," he said with a shiver. "Dude, get off me."

"Sorry." Sam released his brother, and helped him sit beside him. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fi-" Dean cut himself off when he noticed Sam and Bobby were both staring at him. "What now? I swear you two get weirder."

Sam looked away, but Bobby continued looking at him. "Yer going to have to try and start eating, son. If ya don't, me and Sam will have to take ya to see a doctor."

Dean swallowed nervously, and looked at his hands. He saw they were trembling slightly and clenched them into fists, trying to hide the shaking. "Y-You can't.. you can't do that. Sam wouldn't do that." He looked at Sam, who was still looking away. "Sam?"

Sam looked at his brother with tears in his eyes. "I'm sorry, Dean. But Bobby's right... If you don't, you could die." A tear slipped down his cheek, but he refused to wipe it away.

'I should be dead anyway,' Dean thought, but didn't say. "No doctors." He took a deep breath, and bit his lip. "I-I'll try."

"That's all we ask son, that's all we ask." Bobby nodded at Sam, before he stood, and walked to the kitchen to make something light for Dean to eat.

Sam smiled, and reached over to place his hand over Dean's. "Thanks Dean."

Dean gave a tiny smile in return, and waited nervously for Bobby to come back.

**TBC**


	4. Chapter 4

"I thought it would be best if ya ate something easy," said Bobby, walking back into the living room with a bowl of scrambled eggs.

Dean closed his eyes at the sight of the food, so Sam took the bowl from Bobby until he was ready.

"Are you ready?" asked Sam a minute later, holding the bowl out to him.

Dean took a deep breath and released it slowly, before opening his eyes, and taking the bowl with trembling hands.

"It's okay, Dean. Take it slowly."

The older Winchester started playing with the fork, and took another deep breath. "Here goes nothing," he said, putting a tiny bit on the fork. When he brought the food closer, Dean clenched his jaw and swallowed hard as he dropped the eggs back into the bowl. "I can't."

"You can do it, Dean. Try not to think about it," Sam told him, running his hand over Dean's bony back.

Dean nodded, and raised the fork to his mouth, and with his eyes closed, put the food into his mouth. As he slowly chewed the food, he immediately dropped the fork and put his hand over his mouth.

"That's it, Dean. Swallow it," Sam said in a quiet voice. "Don't bring it back up, try and swallow."

He swallowed convulsively, but as soon as he swallowed the scrambled eggs, the pain in his stomach worsened, and he bent over as he began heaving as if he was going to throw up.  


"I'll take this," said Bobby, quickly taking the bowl so it didn't fall off Dean's knee.

Sam continued to rub his back, and murmur soothing words to him. "That's it, Dean. You're doing good."

After almost five minutes, Dean was able to keep the food down, so he removed his hand shakily. "I can't... I can't eat anymore," he said in a trembling voice. "I can't."

"You did good. You tried and you ate a little. I'm proud of you."

Dean looked at his brother with raised eyebrows. "Really?" he asked, then looked at Bobby.

"Ya did good, son. Even if it's only a little, it's better than nothing."

Both men were going to have to keep an eye on Dean, so he didn't run off to the bathroom and bring up the little amount he was able to eat.

"C-Could you move that? I-I..." Dean gestured to the bowl in Bobby's hand, and put a hand over his mouth again.

Bobby shot up, and almost ran into the kitchen to get rid of the food. When he walked back into the living room, Sam was hugging Dean as tight as he dared. He noticed Sam was whispering to his brother, so he backed out of the room to give the two some privacy.

"Shh. You did well, Dean. To be honest... I didn't think you'd be able to eat any of it, so you did better than I thought," he whispered to his shaking brother. "I meant what I said, I'm proud of you. Maybe soon, you could eat a little more than that."

"I did the best I could," he said in a small voice, wiping his eyes.

"I know, Dean. Me and Bobby know, and that's why we're proud of you." Sam pulled back a little so he could see Dean properly, and almost burst into tears when he saw Dean's face. To Sam, Dean had always been his hero, always strong, so it hurt to see him looking so thin and fragile. He smiled reassuringly, and wiped Dean's tears. "Do you want to take a little walk? Get some fresh air?"

Dean shook his head, and hid his face against Sam's shirt.

"Come on, Dean. The only time you've gone out in the past few days is to the garage. You need to get out properly. The last thing you need is to develop agoraphobia."

Dean looked up at Sam with a confused frown. "Agora-what now?"

"Agoraphobia. It's fear of going outside."

"I'm not afraid of going out. I don't want to right now."

"Come on, Dean. Just to the store and back. It's not far. Please Dean."

He sighed, and looked out of the window. "J-Just to the store?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah. To the store, and straight back. I promise."

Dean was silent as he thought for almost a minute, and eventually nodded. "Okay."

Sam's smile widened, and he stood. "Come on then," he said, helping Dean stand.

"I can stand by myself you know. I've been doing that for longer than you've been alive." Dean tried to shrug Sam away, but he wasn't going anywhere.

"I'll be back in a minute," said Sam, going to the hallway to get their jackets. When he came back into the room, he held his black hoodie out to Dean. "Here, you can wear this."

"I want my jacket, Sam."

"You're wearing this," he said, trying to help him put it on.

"I'm not your kid, Sam. I'm a grown man." Dean snatched the hoodie off Sam, and put it on himself.

Sam's eyes filled with tears again as he looked at Dean. With the amount of weight Dean had lost, he looked like a little boy dressed up in his dad's clothes. He cleared his throat, and asked, "Are you ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," he said, before walking towards the kitchen where Bobby was. "Hey Bobby. Me and Geekboy are going for a walk. See you when we get back."

"Okay. Are ya alright?"

"I'm fine. I just wish you would both stop asking me that. I'm completely fine," he said, walking over to open the back door. "Come on Sam, if you're coming. I'm not waiting around all day while you do your hair."

Sam rolled his eyes, and followed Dean. "We'll be back soon, Bobby." When they got outside, Sam wrapped his arm around Dean.

"Sam, I swear to god..." said Dean through clenched teeth.

"I'm not letting you go, Dean. You're still a little weak, it wasn't that long ago you felt dizzy and fell down the stairs."

"I didn't fall down the stairs, it was only one or two. And I'm not weak."

"I didn't mean it in that way, Dean. I meant you're not exactly as strong as you usually are, with you hardly eating." Sam smiled at Dean, and gently squeezed his shoulder. "I'm worried about you, okay?"

Dean's expression softened a little. "You don't have to be, Sam. Look, I get you're trying to help, but you don't have to be practically glued to me 24/7 you know," he said, blinking rapidly when his vision blurred slightly.

"Are you alright?" Sam asked when they turned the corner.

Dean sighed in annoyance. "Sam, will you stop asking me that? If I need to sit or anything, I'll let you know."

"You better do, or I'll kick your ass," Sam warned, pointing his finger at Dean, but he was smiling a little.

"You can try. You've never been able to kick my ass, and you couldn't now. The only way you could beat me is if I was asleep or something." Dean stopped for a few seconds, and grabbed his stomach when the pain intensified even further, causing him to double over. He tried to straighten up, but a wave of dizziness washed over him."Whoa," he said, putting his hand over his eyes.

"Hey. Are you okay? What's wrong? Can you hear me?"

Dean looked up andblinked a few times, so he was only looking at one Sam. "I'm not d-deaf, Sam."

"Maybe you should sit down, you really don't look so good."

"I-I always look good, Sam," said Dean with a weaker version of a grin as he slowly straightened. "Maybe we should go back."

"Okay. Do you need a rest or anything before we go?" asked Sam, placing his arm around Dean. When he didn't answer, Sam put Dean's arm around his own shoulders, and held him around the waist. "I got you, big brother."

Dean's vision slowly dimmed andthings around the edges of his field of vision started to turn black, like a dark smoke was circling his eyes, similar to a demon cloud. He tried to say his brother's name, but nothing came out. "Hmm," he murmured, as his eyes rolled back and his knees gave way.

"DEAN!" yelled Sam, catching him when he collapsed into his arms. He lowered Dean to the ground, his upper body cradled in his arms. "Dean, can you hear me?" Sam used his free hand to slap Dean's ashen cheek gently, but it didn't do any good. Even though Dean's eyes opened a crack, Sam could tell that they were rolled back into his head.

"Oh god." Sam quickly scooped Dean up into his arms, and started running back to Bobby's, trying not to panic when Dean's head limply fell backwards. 'Please let him be alright,' was the only thing going through Sam's mind as he ran back in the direction they had come from.

"BOBBY!" yelled the scared younger brother, running into Bobby's yard. He sighed in relief when Bobby came to the door after hearing his yelling.

"Oh my god," whispered Bobby when he opened the door to see Sam running towards him with an unconscious Dean in his arms. He immediately ran to his boys. "What happened?"

"He needs help. We need to get him to hospital," said Sam frantically with tears in his eyes.

Bobby nodded, and ran to the Impala to get his boy some help.

**TBC**


	5. Chapter 5

Two days later, Dean was still unconscious. Sam had never left Dean's side, and the only time Bobby left was to get Sam some food so he didn't end up in the bed beside Dean.

The doctor thought Dean was giving up. You only had to look at Dean to see this wasn't a recent thing. Their dad had died five months ago, Sam thought it had probably been that long since Dean had eaten properly. He couldn't believe it had taken him this long to notice.

Even if the doctor was right, if Dean was giving up, there was no way Sam was going to give up on his brother, and neither was Bobby.

"I'm right here, Dean. I'm not leaving until you open your eyes, and look at me," said Sam tearfully, clinging onto Dean's thin hand. He paused to wipe the tears falling down his cheeks. "Please wake up."

"Hey, Sam. I got ya some coffee. How's he doing?" asked Bobby, coming into the room with two cups.

"Thanks." Sam took the coffee, and continued staring at his brother. "He's still the same. Why won't he wake up, Bobby?"

Bobby sighed, and sat down. "I wish I knew, Sam," he whispered, his eyes tearing up as he looked down at the young man in the bed. Dean was so pale, he looked whiter than the bed covers, and his freckles stood out, making him look like a kid.

"Do you think... he could be scared to wake up, or something?" Sam asked him, sipping his coffee.

"I don't know, Sam. I've never known Dean to show fear, and I can't see it happening now."

"Yeah, well I've never seen him like this either." Sam frowned as he thought of something. "You don't think he knows he's here, do you? You know how much he hates hospitals."

"Do ya think he's refusing to wake up because he knows he's in a hospital?" asked Bobby with a similar frown.

"I don't know. I'm just guessing." Sam sighed, and ran a hand over his face.

Bobby looked at his watch, and his eyes widened. "Crap. I've got to get back home, Sam. A hunter's stopping by soon. I forgot to tell him I wouldn't be there, it's too late to call him. I won't be long." He stood, but looked back at the younger Winchester. "Are ya going to be alright?"

"Yeah. I'll call you if there's any change."

"I'll be back as soon as I can," said Bobby, before leaving the two alone.

After Bobby left, a nurse came in to check on Dean. "Hey Sam. I'll just be a sec. Has he woken at all?"

"No. He's still the same," Sam answered, watching the nurse closely. Even though he had seen her a few times, he wasn't letting anyone near Dean without him keeping close watch.

The nurse smiled when she finished. "I'll come back a little later. Do you need anything?"

'Yeah, my brother,' Sam thought, but shook his head with a small smile. "No, thanks Helen."

When Helen left, Sam looked back at Dean. 'Screw it,' he thought, climbing on the bed, and carefully lifting Dean into his arms. He adjusted the cannula in Dean's nose, which was helping his laboured breathing.

"I know. Chick-flick moment. But I'm not letting you go until you open your eyes and tell me to. Come on Dean, you've got to wake up. You can't just lay there, and give up."

When Dean gave no response, he sighed. "Fine. But don't say I didn't warn you." As Sam stared down at Dean's face, he noticed Dean had long eyelashes. He wondered how he had never noticed before.

Sam stroked Dean's cheek, and started singing. "These are the eyes..."

* * *

A nurse was about to go into Dean's room, but stopped when she heard someone singing softly. She walked to the door, and saw Sam was singing to his unconscious sibling.

It was obvious how close those boys were, she really hoped the older boy woke up soon. She didn't have the heart to disturb the young man, so she slowly turned and walked away to give them some privacy.

If anyone could get through to Dean, it was his little brother.

* * *

"...This is the feel that's not so safe. This is the face you'll never change..." Sam stopped singing, and smiled. "You know, if you want me to shut the hell up, you can tell me... I know I can't sing, and I'm ruining one of Metallica's songs."

Sam waited for a minute, but Dean remained unconscious, so he continued with the song, gently rocking Dean back and forth.

While Sam sang, he kept shooting glances at the door. He didn't want anybody to hear him singing. Little did he know, quite a few people had heard him singing to Dean.

"...This is the face that you hide from. This is the mask that comes undone," Sam finished, smiling down at Dean.

"I know it doesn't exactly sound the same, but I hope it made you feel a little better. You have to wake up, Dean. The doctors may know the medical stuff, but they don't know you. You're the strongest person I know. And I-I need..." Sam couldn't say anything else as he burst into tears.

After a few minutes, Sam calmed himself down. "Sorry about that," he said, wiping his face. "If you don't want to wake up because you're scared... you don't have to be, I'm here. I know it may seem as though only bad things that happens to us, but if I have you for a big brother, it can't be that bad. You have to wake up. Me and Bobby need you... Please. Wake up. Keep fighting, and wake up." He lowered his head, his body shaking with sobs.

When he looked up, his heart felt as if it would explode with happiness when he saw the most beautiful thing he had seen for years; Dean's green eyes. "Dean? Can you hear me?"

Dean frowned, and moaned softly. "S'm?" he whispered, looking up at Sam through half-lidded eyes.

"Yeah. I'm right here, Dean. I'm right here." Sam carefully raised Dean up to give him a hug.

"I-Is it safe to wake up y-yet? Have you... finished singing?" Dean whispered, closing his eyes with a weak smile. While he was trying to wake up, he had heard someone singing faintly, and he knew it had to be Sam.

Sam laid Dean back down, but still held him. "You heard that? Why didn't you wake up?"

"Y-Your singing is... terrible, dude," Dean told him, unable to stop the groan that escaped his lips as the pain returned with a vengeance.

"It's not that bad." Sam frowned, and shook Dean gently when he saw his eyes were closed and his face was scrunched up as if he was in pain. "Are you alright?" he asked, but Dean didn't answer, so he pressed the call button. "Hold on, Dean."

The doctor who was taking care of Dean came into the room, he was a man in his late forties, his dark hair was dishevelled as if he had just climbed out of bed, but he had a kind smile on his face, which changed to a look of surprise when he saw Dean was awake. "What seems to be the problem?"

"He's in pain," answered Sam, trying to comfort his brother. "Shh. I got you, Dean."

"Okay. Can I have a look at you?"

"Hate... Doctors."

"A lot of people do. But I need to check you over, can you let me do that?"

Dean looked up at Sam, who nodded. "Yeah. It's okay, Dean. He's one of the good guys."

"O-Okay, but you better not... f-feel me up."

Sam and the doctor laughed. "Don't worry, I won't. Your brother can stay and supervise, alright?" He noticed Dean had his arms wrapped around his middle, and pointed at the area. "Can you move your arms for me, please?"

While Dr Morgan examined Dean, Sam ran his fingers through Dean's hair, trying to comfort him. "It's okay."

Dr Morgan finished, and pulled the covers back up. "He's experiencing stomach pain, which isn't unusual with his condition. Any dizziness, Dean?"

Dean blinked a few times, and managed to shake his head. "Not right now."

"Alright. I'll give you some medication, and let you get a bit of rest. We'll come back later to run some tests," he said, administering some pain relief. When he finished, he turned to Sam. "If he needs anything else, you know what to do."

"Thanks." When the doctor left, Sam turned his attention back to Dean, who was glaring at him. "What?"

"You know I didn't... w-want to come here."

"Dean, you collapsed and wouldn't wake up. What do you want me to do?" Sam looked away for a second. "You really scared me, you know."

"Can you let me go? I want to sleep," whispered Dean, turning his face away from Sam.

Sam nodded, and laid Dean down gently in the middle of the bed. "If you need me, just ask." He sat down in the chair by Dean's bed, and watched him sleep.

* * *

A few hours later, Bobby still wasn't back. But Sam had let him know Dean had woke up, and the older man was going to come back as soon as he could.

Since waking up, Dean had refused to let any of the doctors or nurses near him.

"Dean, you can't keep doing this. You have to let the doctors help you," Sam said worriedly, looking at his brother, who refused to look at him. "I mean... look at yourself, you look like a skeleton. The doctor said that if you don't start eating soon, you might not last much longer. Do you want to die?"

Dean finally looked up at Sam. "Yes," he whispered, looking him straight in the eye.

Sam gasped, and sat on the edge of the bed. "You can't... You don't mean that."

"Should be dead anyway," Dean answered with a shrug.

"Please Dean. Please don't do this. I need you, I can't lose you too."

"I'm sure you'd get over it."

Sam reached over, and took Dean's thin, bony hand. "I won't, Dean. Out of everyone we've lost, I've survived it. But if I lost you, I wouldn't survive it. You're not just my brother, you're my best friend."

Dean closed his eyes, a single tear falling down his cheek. "Don't, Sam."

"Don't what? Care about my brother? Please let us help. If you don't want to do this for yourself, then do it for me. I can't lose you," said Sam, squeezing his hand gently. "I don't think Bobby can lose you either. He's always had a big soft spot for you. You've always been his favourite. You can't die."

Dean shook his head, more tears streaming down his cheeks. "S-Stop," he whispered in a trembling voice. He took his hand from Sam, and covered his face as he started sobbing.

"Oh Dean." Sam ignored his own tears, and took Dean into his arms. "Shh. I've got you." He had never seen Dean this way before, he was usually so strong and never cried. It was heartbreaking to see him so broken.

Neither of the brothers noticed Bobby standing in the doorway with tears in his eyes.

**TBC**


	6. Chapter 6

The next morning, Sam was sitting in the chair beside the bed, watching his big brother sleep.

"Hey Sam. I brought ya a sandwich," announced Bobby, coming into the room with some breakfast. "And don't say yer not hungry, or I'll whack ya around the head with it."

Sam rolled his eyes and took the sandwich, before he got beat up by it. "Do you think we can get through to him?" he asked, opening the sandwich wrapper.

"I hope so, Sam. I can't stand to see him like this."

"I know. Me neither. Dean's always the strong one." Sam sighed, and watched Dean. "But it's my turn to look after him now. I don't care what he wants, I'm not letting him die."

"Ya mean 'we're not'? If anyone can get through to him, it's his family. We can be just as stubborn as him."

"Yeah. We've got to show him how much we love him, and he's worth saving." Sam leaned forward when he saw Dean's eyelids flutter. "Dean, are you awake?"

Dean slowly opened his eyes, and turned to his brother and second father. "No, I'm still asleep," he whispered with a tiny smile.

"See? I told you, you talk in your sleep," Sam joked, smiling back. "How are you doing? Are you in any pain or anything? Please don't lie to me."

"I'm fine, Sam. I want to go home, when can I go?"

Bobby and Sam rolled their eyes. "Yer not going home until the doctor says. I'll tie ya to the bed if ya even think about getting out of it."

"Didn't know you were that kinky, old man," said Dean, smirking.

"Don't smart-mouth me, boy. Me and yer brother have been worried sick."

"Why? There's no need to be, I'm fine. You know I hate hospitals, I don't want to be here," Dean whispered, looking at the two men.

"I'm sorry, Dean. You need help. We can't sit back and watch you kill yourself. Do you think dad wanted this? Do you think he gave his life, so you could give yours up too?"

"Shut up, Sam. J-Just shut up."

"Why? We love you, Dean. We can't watch you do this to yourself."

"Fine, go somewhere else then. Why can't you let me die in peace?" asked Dean, turning on his side, facing away from them.

Sam's eyes filled with tears, while Bobby lost his temper. "Now, listen to me boy." He sat on the edge of the bed, and grabbed Dean's shoulders, before gently turning him onto his back. "Don't ever say anything like that again, ya hear me?"

"Bobby, get off me," said Dean, trying to get away.

"No. Yer going to lay there and listen. We're not going to let ya die, yer the closest thing I've ever had to a son." Bobby struggled to keep his emotions in check, his eyes filling with tears. "Ever since I first met ya, even though yer a pain in the ass sometimes, I've always loved ya. Sam had his brother to take care of him, ya even took care of yer dad... But nobody took care of ya. I took that job on myself, and I'm not giving it up now, and I'm not giving up on ya either."

Sam nodded, and pulled his chair closer to the bed. "He's right, Dean. Please... If you don't want to fight for yourself, fight for your family. It's one of the many things you're best at."

A tear slipped down Dean's cheek, and he shook his head as he finally stopped struggling. "No. I... I... The only thing I'm good at is letting people die."

"That's not true. You're a great brother... the best. You protect and help everyone that needs it. You make people laugh with your weird sense of humour. You keep your family together, and sane. You're an amazing hunter. We'll be here all night if I have to name all the things I love about you. To me, you're the best at everything. You're awesome. You're my best friend... You're my hero, Dean."

Dean's eyes lit up at hearing the last part. "I'm Batman?"

"Batman wishes he was as cool as you. You can take all the superheroes, put them all together... and I bet you could kick all their asses with one hand tied behind your back."

Dean looked up at Bobby, then back at Sam with his huge green eyes. "You... No... I'm not..."

"I'm so proud you're my brother, Dean. I don't think I could cope without you." Sam tried to wipe his tears, but more fell. "I love you so much, Dean. Please... Please don't die," he begged, taking Dean's hand in his. "Please."

Bobby watched the emotions play across Dean's face. If anyone could get through to him, it was Sam.

"D-Do you really mean that?"

"Mean what, Dean?"

"Hero? Awesome?"

Sam smiled, and squeezed his hand gently. "I mean every word. I've idolised you since I was four, I used to try and be just like you. But I realised, there's nobody as cool as you. If you look up awesome in the dictionary, you'll see a picture of Dean Winchester."

Dean thought about everything Sam had said to him, and he smiled properly for the first time in months. "I'm awesome."

Sam and Bobby laughed. "Yeah, ya are. Yer also an Idjit, but yer our Idjit," the older man said fondly, ruffling Dean's hair.

"So... Will you let us help you? Will you try to eat?" Sam asked him, looking hopeful. "Stop trying to kill yourself?"

Dean's smile dropped. "I... I..."

"We'll be right here with you every step of the way. We need you. Let us help."

Dean took a deep breath, and hesitantly nodded. "O-Okay. I-I'll... try."

"That's my boy." Bobby surprised Dean by sitting him up, and wrapping his arms around him in a hug.

"Er... Bobby? Can't breathe here." Dean looked over at Sam, his chin resting against Bobby's shoulder. "Sam... Help."

Sam was no help; he joined them on the bed, and carefully hugged him from behind, completing the family hug.

Dean tried to get free, but he was caught between the two men. "Uh... guys? Chick-flick moment. Come on, Samantha and Roberta, let me go." When they didn't, Dean gave up, and relaxed into his family's arms.

"I love you, Dean," whispered Sam, closing his eyes. "We love you."

Dean closed his own eyes, a smile on his face. If anyone asked him about it, he would deny this moment ever happened.

But for the first time in a long time, Dean felt safe and protected...

He felt loved.

**TBC**


	7. Chapter 7

Two days later, the doctor and another man came into the room to see Dean, who was laying in the bed, staring over at the wall. "How are you feeling?"

Dean looked at them, and shrugged. "Fine. Can I go home yet?"

"I asked Sam and Bobby to go to the cafeteria," said Dr Morgan, walking closer to the bed. "This is my brother. He's a psychiatrist. I wanted him to come and talk to you."

Dean narrowed his eyes and glared at the two men. "Why? I don't need a fricking psychiatrist. I'm fine," he told them, before going back to staring blankly at the wall.

"You're not fine, Dean. Sam told me you wanted to die, and that's why you stopped eating. Your father dying a few months ago is obviously the thing which drove you to depression."

"I'm... I'm not depressed. And my dad dying is none of your damn business. Now would you leave me the hell alone?"

The psychiatrist didn't seem to be affected by the young man glaring at him, and sat in the chair by the bed. "My name is Dr Morgan. Kind of like my brother," he said with a smile, opening his notebook. "But to avoid confusion, you can call me Ryan. I don't usually do this, but Nick asked me to come and talk to you. Sam thinks it might help."

"Look, I don't care what your name is. I just want to get the hell out of here. My issues are none of your business."

"You are not fine, Dean. You stopped eating properly due to depression, but because you had control of your life it developed into an eating disorder. But instead of wanting to lose weight, you were doing this because you want to die. Does this sound familiar?"

Dean looked down at his hands. "How many times do I have to tell you or my brother, I DO NOT have an eating disorder. I'm not a teenage girl. I'm FINE! I'm not depressed."

"It's not weak to need some help. I'll help you if you just ask."

Dean took a deep breath, and tried to keep control of his temper. "Look Dr Moron, would you get out, and leave me alone? I'm done talking," he said, laying down on his side, facing away from the two men.

"Let's talk to his brother and uncle." Ryan stood from the chair, and the two left the younger man alone.

Sam and Bobby were walking to Dean's room, when they saw the two Dr Morgans leave. "How is he?"

"Well, aside from denying there was anything wrong and calling me Dr Moron, he wouldn't talk."

Bobby chuckled. "Sorry. It's so like Dean to insult people. It's his... thing. Ya know? Using humour to avoid talking about his problems."

Ryan jotted something down on the pad he was holding. "With what you've told me, and seeing his behaviour for myself, I can see he's depressed. When he gets out of here, go to the pharmacy and get him these." He handed Sam a piece of paper. "They're anti-depressants. Not every pharmacy has them, but they do downstairs. But with him wanting to kill himself, I'd suggest you keep hold of these yourself."

"Thanks. I'm going to see him." Sam walked back into Dean's room, with Bobby following behind. "Hey, Dean. How are you doing?" he asked, sitting on the edge of Dean's bed, and gently touching his arm.

Dean gasped and jumped in surprise at the unexpected touch, but he relaxed when he saw it was Sam. "Why? Why did you get a fricking psychiatrist to talk to me?" he asked, sitting up, and wiping his face. "I don't need one."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you, I want to help you," Sam told him, gently putting his hand on Dean's shoulder. "I asked the nurse to bring you some food up. Will you try to eat some for me?"

Dean shrugged, and looked back at the wall, as if he found something fascinating.

Bobby sat on the chair, and took Dean's thin hand. "We're here to help, son. I'm sorry if the psychiatrist upset ya, but..." He squeezed his hand gently. "If ya want to talk or anything, ya can talk to us. The doctor won't bother ya again. But yer not getting rid of us."

"H-He said I was depressed. But I'm not... am I?" he asked with a confused frown.

Bobby bit his lip, and looked at Sam. "Uh... To be honest, we think ya are, Dean. But we're going to be here for ya, I promise."

Dean nodded, and looked at their hands. "Why are we holding hands? Have we turned gay or something?"

"No. Yer not my type. I'm just letting ya know we're here. And I don't care what ya want, we're not going anywhere."

"He's right, Dean. We're here to take care of you. And we're not leaving." Sam knew that one of Dean's fears was being left alone, and that was not going to happen again.

Before Dean had the chance to say anything, a nurse came into the room with a tray of food. "Room service. Your brother said you were going to try to eat something today," she said, placing the tray on Dean's knee.

Dean smiled shakily, and looked down at the cafeteria crap that passed as food. "T-Thanks."

"You're welcome," said the nurse, before she left the room.

"You can do it, Dean," Sam told him, sitting closer to his brother to support him.

Dean slowly picked up his fork, and shakily put a little of the food on it. He swallowed nervously as he brought the food closer to his face. As the fork reached his lips, he took a shaky breath and lowered the fork again.

"Do it for me, Dean. Come on," said Sam, taking Dean's free hand in his.

He took a deep breath, and let it out slowly, before putting the food in his mouth and chewing slowly. "Tastes like crap," he whispered with a grimace.

"I know. But you did it. Try another two mouthfuls, and I promise when you feel up to it, I'll buy you a burger."

Dean pulled another face, but took another bite. "I can't eat any more," he said after he swallowed. He dropped the fork, and looked at Sam with tears in his eyes. "I did it. I-I did it."

Sam smiled, and put his arm around Dean in a one-armed hug. "I'm proud of you, Dean. I know you probably don't think it's much, but it was a very big step. We'll try to get you to eat a little more each day, how about that?"

Dean closed his eyes, and let out a sob. "I... I did it, Sammy. I did it for you."

A tear slipped down Sam's cheek, and he wrapped his other arm around his thin fragile brother in a gentle hug. "Thank you."

Bobby took the tray, and placed it on the bedside table. "I'm proud of ya, son," he said, placing his hand on Dean's arm.

"I'm sorry," Dean whispered, wiping his tears away.

"Why, Dean? Why are you sorry?"

"F-For putting you through this. I just... wanted to die. I didn't think you..."

"Well, we do. You're the best part of this family. And we'll be right here with you. When you get out of here, you know we'll probably drive you crazy, don't you? We're not going to let you out of our sight. You can't take care of yourself right now, you need us."

"So, I guess I'm going to have two mother hens looking after me then, huh? As long as you don't wear a nurses outfit or anything," he said, shuddering at the thought.

Sam laughed. "Don't worry, we won't."

"Thank god," Dean whispered with a sigh. "That image will give me nightmares for the rest of my life." He smiled slightly at the two men. "So when can I go home? I swear if I have to stay here any longer, I'm going to do a great escape."

"If you're good, I'll talk to the doctor tomorrow. Okay?"

Dean's eyelids started drooping. "Good. I really need to break free from this place."

"Why don't ya get some sleep, son?"

Dean's eyes shot open. "I'm not tired," he whispered, but yawned a second later.

"Of course not," said Bobby with an eye roll. "Ya look like an extra from Night of the living dead."

The older Winchester glared at Bobby. He opened his mouth to something, but he relaxed further into Sam's protective arms, and fell asleep.

"Sweet dreams, big brother," Sam whispered, tightening his hold slightly.

Even though Dean was finally accepting their help, and trying to eat, he still had a long road ahead of him.

Sam and Bobby were going to be with him every step of the way.


	8. Chapter 8

Several days later, Dean was sitting on the edge of his bed, waiting impatiently for Sam. "Where is he?"

"He'll be here in a minute, keep yer hair on."

Dean sighed and continued waiting until Sam finally came into the room. "Sam, where the hell have you been? I've been waiting to go for the past hour."

"I talked to your doctor, and I went back to Bobby's to sort something out."

"So, can I go?"

"Yeah, you can go... as long as you promise to still eat. Dr Morgan told me to bring you back if you have any problems."

The doctor didn't really want to release Dean yet, but he reluctantly agreed to let him go when Sam told him that keeping Dean here would make him stop eating again, since he seriously hated hospitals after what happened to their dad, and that he would recover better in a familiar place with his family around him. So Dr Morgan made Bobby and Sam promise to make sure Dean continued eating, but gave Sam leaflets about eating disorder clinics and treatment centres, just in-case.

Dean sighed, and looked at Bobby. "I don't have to come back, do I?"

"Only for yer appointments every two weeks. Can he go now?"

"Yeah. We just have to wait for..." Sam trailed off when a nurse came into the room with a wheelchair. "Her."

"Hey, Dean. Today's your big day, your chariot awaits."

"I'm not sitting in that thing."

"You're not going anywhere without one," said Sam, crossing his arms. "So you either get in the chair, or you can stay here... It's up to you."

Dean's glare deepened, and he almost stomped over to the chair like a child. "Fine," he sighed, sitting down.

Sam grinned at Bobby, and took the handles of the chair. "Come on, Dean. Your car is waiting," he said, pushing him down the corridor.

Dean's eyes seemed to light up at the mention of the Impala. "My car, how is she?"

"She's fine, Dean. You've only been away from her for just a week and a half," said Sam, pushing his brother outside and over to his beloved vehicle **.**

"My baby," said Dean, grinning as he ran his hand over the black door.

"I could leave you two alone if you want."

Dean turned to glare at him again. "Don't listen to him, baby," he said quietly, turning back to the car.

"Come on." Sam opened the passenger door, and helped Dean stand up.

Dean tried to shrug him off, but almost fell backwards. "Let me go."

"I'm just helping you, Dean. Remember, you said I could." After a bit of struggling, Sam finally got his brother into the car, and climbed in behind the wheel. "Bobby's following behind us. Do you want any music on?"

Dean leaned against the door, and shook his head. "No. I'm a little tired."

"Are you sure you're okay?" asked Sam, frowning worriedly at him. "You still look a little pale."

"Yeah, I'm okay. Stop worrying, you're driving me crazy."

Sam started the car. "Do you want to get a burger on the way?"

Dean looked as if he was going to throw up. "Ugh. No thanks."

"Alright. I'll make you something you like when we get home."

"Home?" asked a frowning Dean.

"Yeah. Bobby's... You do remember we're staying there, right?"

"Of course I remember. I've lost weight, not my memory."

Sam smiled. It was good to hear some of the old Dean again.

* * *

When they got to Bobby's, the two men both went to help Dean out of the car.

Dean tried to shrug their hands off him. "Dudes, I can walk by myself."

"Shut yer mouth, boy," said Bobby with a fond expression, taking Dean's right arm, while Sam took the other.

"Yeah. We're taking care of you, so no complaining." Sam took his key from his pocket with his free hand, and opened the front door.

When the door was opened, the two men walked Dean over to the couch, which had pillows and a blanket over it.

"What the hell are those for?" asked Dean, nose wrinkling in disgust.

"That's where you're spending the day. The doctor said you need rest, and that's what you're going to get." Sam lowered Dean carefully onto the couch, and covered him up. "How are you doing? Do you need anything?"

"Yeah. A little peace," answered Dean, shifting slightly.

Sam caught the movement. "What's wrong? Do you need the bathroom? Ooh, do you need a drink?"

"Are ya warm enough, kid?" Bobby joined in with the questions.

"Oh my god. Is this what it's going to be like?"

"Yeah. Pretty much," said Sam, kneeling beside him. "Do you want to watch TV?"

Bobby walked over to Dean with a glass of orange juice, which he handed to Sam.

"Hey, Dean. We need you to take these," Sam told him, getting the pills out.

Dean looked at them, and sighed. He had started taking them in the hospital, but Sam and Bobby hadn't told him what they really were yet. They had only told him they were to help him.

"Come on, take them."

"Actually, I think they'd best be taken with food," said Bobby with raised eyebrows, looking at Dean.

Dean glanced at the pill in Sam's hand. "Maybe later, I'm a little tired right now. I want to sleep a little."

Sam wanted to argue, but noticed Dean did look tired with the black marks around his eyes. "Fine. But as soon as you wake up, we're making you something to eat, and you're going to take this."

"Fine," said Dean with a sigh, closing his eyes. He relaxed into the pillows, and fell asleep a few seconds later.

Sam rearranged the blanket to keep him warm, and got comfortable on the floor. "I'm here," he whispered, gently taking Dean's thin hand in his, stroking the back of it.

"Do ya want me to bring a chair in? It can't be that comfortable sitting on the floor."

"Sure. But I'm staying right here. Dean needs me."

"Sam, he's asleep. How the hell is he going to need ya?"

"I'm not leaving him, Bobby," said Sam, raising his voice slightly. "I..." He trailed off, tears filling his eyes.

Bobby sighed, and went to get a chair for the younger Winchester. He came back a few seconds later, with one of the kitchen chairs. "Here idjit."

"Thanks Bobby... for everything," said Sam, moving the chair as close as he could to the couch.

"Don't mention it, Sam. I'm going to start lunch. Are ya going to make Dean something when he wakes up?"

"Yeah. I'll make him something easy. Remember what the doctor said, start off with small meals, then get him onto bigger ones."

Bobby watched the brothers for a minute, before going into the kitchen.

When Sam was left alone with Dean, he leaned a little closer, and whispered so only Dean could hear him. "We're going to help you get better... We will."

* * *

A few hours later, Dean opened his eyes, and flinched when he saw Sam right above him just inches from his face. "Dude, what the hell?" he said in a weak voice.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Sam. Will you stop asking me that?"

"No. I'm going to make you something to eat. Is toast okay?" asked Sam, getting to his feet. "And you're not allowed to say no."

"Yeah, sure," Dean answered with a shrug.

Sam grinned, and almost ran into the kitchen.

"I've never known anyone get so excited over toast," Dean said to Bobby, who was sitting in his chair.

"I know. But he only wants ya to get better. We both do."

Dean looked at his hands, and bit his lip. "I know."

When Sam came back with a piece of toast cut into four, Dean was staring blankly at the wall. It seemed to be a habit he had picked up recently.

"Hey, Dean?" asked Sam with a concerned expression as he sat down.

"What?" Dean turned to Sam, and sat up slightly, glaring at the toast as if it was a demon.

"Here you go," said Sam, handing Dean a little piece.

He took it with a slightly trembling hand, raising it slowly to his mouth to take a small bite. He only ate a mouthful, before handing it back to Sam.

"No. Try a little more."

"B-But I..." He took a trembling breath, and had another bite. The past few days, two mouthfuls was the most Dean had been able to eat. Sam didn't want to force him to eat more until he was ready.

After swallowing the second bite, Dean handed the small piece of toast back to Sam, looking even paler than he did before.

"Are you alright?" Sam asked him, hoping he wasn't going to be sick.

Dean swallowed a few times, and eventually nodded. "Yeah, I think so."

"Are you ready to take this now?" asked Sam, handing Dean his pill and the juice.

"Thanks," said Dean, before swallowing the pill with a sip of water.

"Do you want to do anything?"

"Not really. Nothing much to do stuck on the couch."

Sam smiled sadly, and started rearranging the blanket again to make sure Dean didn't get cold.

"Dude, will you stop touching me?"

"Not touching, can't get mad," said Sam, waving his hand in-front of Dean's face. "Not touching, can't get mad."

Bobby shook his head, and chuckled at the childish behaviour.

Dean tried to grab Sam's hand, but he kept moving it away. "You're a freak."

"I'm a freak now, am I?" asked Sam pouting, but the pout gave way to a grin as he started tickling Dean gently.

"S-Stop," said Dean squirming, trying his best not to laugh. He couldn't help it, he laughed anyway.

Bobby and Sam had the biggest smiles on their faces. It had been so long since Dean had laughed properly.

"TICKLE TORTURE!" As Sam sat on the edge of the couch, still tickling his big brother, he tried not to think of how bony he was.

Dean laughed louder, turning his body slightly to get away from the attacking fingers, but Sam still managed to get him. "Get o-off," he managed through his laughter.

Sam didn't stop grinning. It was so good to see Dean laugh, and even better to see actual colour in his cheeks.

When Sam finally stopped tickling him, both were out of breath from all the laughing.

The colour suddenly seemed to drain from Dean's face, making Sam frown in concern. "Dean, are you-" was all he managed to say before Dean threw up all over him. "Whoa."

"S-Sorry," Dean whispered, wiping his mouth with the corner of the blanket.

Sam took the blanket off him, and Bobby went to get a clean one. "It's my fault. I shouldn't have tickled you when you've just eaten," he said, taking the blanket Bobby offered him to cover Dean back up. He raised his eyebrows in surprise when he also handed him a clean shirt, which he changed into quickly, before sitting back on the edge of the couch, taking Dean's hand gently in both of his. "It was fun. We haven't acted like that since we were kids."

Dean smiled back slightly. "Yeah," he agreed, looking down at their joined hands. "Except I haven't been a kid since I was four."

"I know. But it was nice being a kid again." Sam looked back at the toast on the coffee table. "Er... I know you probably won't eat again yet, so I'll make you something in about an hour or so."

"Oh joy. I'll look forward to it," said Dean sarcastically.

Sam reached out, and stroked Dean's hair away from his forehead with a loving expression. For some reason, since Dean had woke up in hospital, he felt really protective of him.

"Er... Sam, you're freaking me out."

"I'm sorry," Sam whispered, eyes filling with tears. "It's just... I'm so glad you're okay, and you're letting us help you."

Dean lowered his eyes, suddenly interested in the blanket. "M-Me too. And I..."

"What, Dean? What's wrong?"

"You and Bobby..." Dean squirmed slightly in discomfort. He hated these kinds of moments.

Bobby got up from his chair, and joined his boys. "Sam and I what?"

Dean took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. "You... I guess... The last few days, I've..." He growled in frustration. "I didn't really think anybody would care if I died or not, but... the past week and a half... you guys have shown how much you care about me... and love me."

"Of course we love you, you jerk."

"A-After dad died, I wanted to die too. But you guys... I guess you made me realise that I'm loved. It's why I started eating again. And it made me... I..."

"You what, Dean?" asked Sam gently, knowing how hard this was for Dean.

"A tiny part of me... Is... I don't want to die," Dean confessed with tear-filled eyes.

Sam smiled even as tears fell down his cheeks. "Oh Dean," he whispered, throwing his arms around his sibling.

Bobby watched the brothers, tears swimming in his own eyes. It seemed they had finally got through to the older Winchester.

"I-I'm going to try to get better. But I need you."

"We're not going anywhere. We'll be right here with you every step of the way."

Dean nodded against Sam's chest. "It still feels... A really big part of me..." He closed his eyes as a single tear overflowed and escaped down his cheek. "A huge part of me still feels that I want to die. But just a small part... a tiny part of me doesn't, not anymore. I don't know why I feel like that. I don't know what's wrong with me," he admitted quietly.

"Shh. It's going to be okay, Dean. I promise."

It seemed like Dean's stubbornness and strength (for now) had the upper hand over his depression.

Sam and Bobby hoped Dean kept fighting, and didn't let it win.

****TBC** **


	9. Chapter 9

A week after Dean's release from hospital, Sam walked into the living room with his jacket and shoes. "Hey, Dean. I'm going shopping. Do you want to come?"

Dean looked up at Sam, before turning his gaze outside. "I-I..." He swallowed nervously, and shrugged. "Don't know, Sammy."

Sam wrapped his arm around Dean's bony frame. "Come on, Dean. I know you're a little nervous. You haven't been out since that walk we went on before..." He trailed off, not wanting to think of their last trip outside. "But you need to get some fresh air. You can't stay inside forever."

Dean took a deep breath, and turned to Sam. "Okay."

"Good. You can wear this again." He lifted his hoodie up, so Dean could see it.

"Why do you always dress me in that when I'm... sick or whatever?" he asked, reluctantly taking the hoodie.

"I don't know. But I want to make sure you're warm... and this will keep you from being cold."

Dean rolled his eyes. "My jackets do that too, you know."

"I'm trying to look after you, Dean. Don't start with me, or I'll have to start the tickle torture again."

"Ooooh. I'm scared," said Dean with a fake shudder.

"You will be. Come on." Sam took Dean's hand, and gently helped him to stand. "Are you alright?"

"Oh my god. Sam, I stood up. I doubt something is going to happen to me standing."

"I know I'm being overprotective, but I won't apologise for it. You could've died not that long ago... and you only just started eating a few days ago. So excuse me for being worried about my brother." Sam's eyes filled with tears, but he refused to wipe them away.

Dean's expression softened. "It's okay, Sammy. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. Now come on then, before it gets dark," he said, placing his arm around Dean.

"Sam, it's one in the afternoon. I'm not that slow," said Dean, gently elbowing him in the ribs as they walked into the kitchen where Bobby was.

"Hey Bobby, I'm going to do the shopping. I've got the list, and shouldn't be too long."

Bobby saw Dean was going with him. "Take as long as ya need. Make sure he doesn't tire himself, and make him rest if he needs it," he told him, trying not to smile at the look on Dean's face.

"Er... Hello? I am here you know."

"I know. But ya can't blame me and Sam for being worried."

"Fine, whatever. Can we go now?" he asked, before walking over to the door, without waiting for an answer.

"See you later, Bobby." Sam was about to turn when he heard Bobby behind him.

"I mean it, Sam. Look after him," said the older man with a serious expression.

"Of course I will. It's my job." Sam smiled at Bobby, and went after his brother. He frowned when he saw Dean standing at the door, looking outside nervously. "Are you okay?" he asked, putting his hand on Dean's back.

Dean jumped slightly at the unexpected touch. "God. Don't do that. I'm fine. Just... Let's go, Sammy," he said, taking a step outside, and walking out of the yard.

The two Winchesters walked in silence for several minutes until Dean suddenly rocked to the side. "Whoa."

"Whoa, hey," said Sam when Dean was almost knocked over by a strong gust of wind. He put his hands on Dean's shoulders to steady him. "Are you..."

"Yes Sam. Stop asking me that." Dean looked up with a shocked expression. "I can't believe I was nearly knocked over by a bit of fricking wind."

"Dean, a kid could probably knock you over right now. In fact... they'd probably weigh more than you at the moment."

"I'm... I'm trying, okay?" he asked, looking up at Sam.

"I know you are, Dean. And I'm very proud of you, and so is Bobby." Sam started walking with Dean, but he never removed his arm from around his shoulders.

* * *

They managed to get to the store with Dean only having to sit down twice on the way.

Once they got to the store, Sam picked up a basket. "This way," he said, leading Dean over to the bread. He noticed Dean was walking very close to him, and put his arm protectively around him. After getting the bread, they started walking in the direction of the shelved items. He stopped when Dean suddenly froze beside him. "Dean?"

Dean was biting his thumbnail, and nervously looking at all of the food around him. He suddenly felt overwhelmed as his heart picked up speed and felt as if someone had replaced his heart with a drum and was beating it in a fast rhythm. Dean's breathing hitched slightly as he closed his eyes so he didn't have to look at all the food surrounding him.

"Hey." Sam got in Dean's line of sight, and put his hand under his chin, lifting slightly so he could look at his face. "What's wrong?"

Dean opened his eyes again, and looked up at Sam's worried face. "Nothing... I-I'm fi-fine," he whispered, forcing a shaky smile to his face.

"You're not fine, Dean. You look like you've seen a ghost... which for normal people..." Sam trailed off, shaking his head. "What's wrong?"

"I-I don't know. I just..." Dean looked around the aisle, then looked back at Sam. He shook his head, and got control of himself by taking a deep breath in through his nose and letting it out through his mouth. "I'm sorry. I don't know what the hell is wrong with me. Let's get this over with."

Sam watched Dean with concern for a minute longer, before he nodded. "Okay. If you need to leave or anything, tell me and we'll go straight away."

"But what about the shopping?"

"You come first before some stupid food. I mean it Dean, don't pretend to be fine when you're not," Sam told him, turning back to the shelves. "Do you want anything from here? Do you want anything in particular?"

Dean looked around at the shelves of food, biting his bottom lip. "Don't know," he whispered, lowering his eyes to the ground. He clenched his hands into fists to stop the shaking.

Sam nodded, and moved further down the aisle. "Okay. Let me know if there's anything you want."

When they got to the candy aisle, Dean broke away from Sam, and picked up a bag of M&Ms with a trembling hand, trying not to get too close to the other bags of candy. "Can I get these?" he asked, quickly stepping back as if he was expecting something on the shelf to attack him.

"Of course you can. Get two if you want," said Sam, smiling proudly as he watched his brother get another bag. He knew it sounded stupid to be proud of Dean doing something so small, but at least he chose something to eat. "What else do you want?"

Dean joined Sam again, tugging on the hoodie sleeve nervously. He tried to stay in the middle of the aisle so he wasn't close to any of the food on either side of him. His eyes were darting around him as if they either didn't want to land on anything for more than a second, or were looking for a quick way out. "Uh... I don't want anything else from here."

"Alright then. Let's go to the next one."

After almost ten minutes of walking around the aisles, they walked over to the frozen food section. "What do you want for dinner tonight?"

"I don't care." Dean leaned a little into Sam and whispered, "Hey Sam? Are people staring at me? I feel like they're staring at me."

"Nobody's staring at you, Dean."

"Are you sure? How do you know?"

"Well, I know because there's nobody here. This aisle's empty," Sam told him, rubbing his arm.

"Oh," said Dean, embarrassed. He shook himself and took another deep steadying breath, as he wrapped his arms around his thin frame as if to protect himself from an invisible threat. "Sorry about that. I... People looking at me doesn't usually bother me, but I don't want..."

"It'll be okay, Dean. It'll take awhile for you to get better, but you will get there."

"I hate being like this. I just want to be me again."

"I know. Me too. Now come on... I don't know about you, but I'm a little cold standing here." When they made it to their destination, Sam opened one of the freezers, and reached in. "Ooh look. Fish sticks. I used to love these. Ooh," he said, waving the box happily.

Dean couldn't help it, he started laughing at his brother acting like a big kid. "You're a freak."

"Hey," Sam pouted, pretending to be sad, but he was actually happy he had made Dean laugh. "Ooh. Look, burgers. Do you want some?"

"Uh... S-Sure Sam," answered Dean with a shaky smile.

Sam grinned again, and put a box of frozen burgers into the basket. "Ooh pizza." He reached over, and picked up a box. "Do you want anything else from here?"

"What the hell is wrong with you? You're acting... weird."

Sam raised his eyebrows, trying to look innocent. "What? I'm not doing anything." He knew he was acting like a big kid, but he wanted to take Dean's mind of his nervousness around food. "Oh, let's get some cereal," he said, walking over to the cereal aisle.

"But I don't eat breakfast."

"I know you don't... now. But you're going to have to start. You can't live off one meal a day. And even then you don't eat much. Now come on, or I'll throw you over my shoulder, and carry you there."

"Fine, you big freaky weirdo."

"I heard that." Sam playfully hit Dean's arm, being careful not to hit him hard, since he didn't want to knock him over.

"I said it loud. Good to know you haven't gone deaf," he said, making Sam laugh.

When they got to the cereal aisle, they started looking for something all three of them liked. Sam sighed when he saw all the different kinds, so he grabbed a random box, and threw it into the basket.

"Hey Sam, can we get some soda? I'm thirsty."

"Yeah. Come on," he said, walking over to the selection of drinks.

"Do you want one?" asked Dean, opening the fridge, and picking up some orange.

"Yeah. Same for me," said Sam, turning in a circle to look around once more to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything. "I think we've got everything... Unless you want something else?"

Dean's green eyes wandered around the store, and his breath caught when he saw a group of people walking over. "Uh... I-I don't think so. Can we go now?"

Sam frowned in concern, and threw his free arm around Dean again. "Yeah, come on."

To get there, they had to go through one of the food aisles. Sam's frown deepened when he noticed Dean leaning into him, and almost shying away from the food and the people they passed. "Do you want to leave? I'll put the food down, and we'll go if you want."

"No. I'm alright," he whispered, looking down at the floor as they quickly walked to the checkout.

"Are you sure?" asked Sam, squeezing Dean gently, not caring what people thought about him with his arm around his brother.

* * *

When they had paid for the food, they walked out with their bags.

Dean had never been so relieved in his life when they finally walked out of the store. His heart and breathing seemed to have calmed down to a steady rhythm at last, and the shaking in his hands calmed to the slight trembling he was used to.

Sam looked around, and saw some benches not too far away, so he led Dean over to them. "Are you alright?" he asked, sitting beside him.

"I'm a little tired," Dean confessed quietly, finally letting out a deep breath he seemed to have been holding in. "I haven't even been walking that much, and it's tired me out."

Sam smiled sympathetically. "I know. But I've read it's normal to feel tired easily. You can't have much energy from not eating."

"I've told you, Sam. I'm trying my best," said Dean, trying not to lose his temper.

"Hey, hey. I know you're trying. But it's not your fault you're depressed... and the eat..." Sam stopped when he saw Dean glaring at him again. "Sorry," he apologised, knowing Dean hated that word.

Dean shook his head and closed his eyes as he felt a wave of dizziness wash over him. "Forget about it," he said, putting his hand to his forehead.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I just felt a little dizzy for a second."

"I'm calling Bobby," said Sam, getting his phone out of his pocket. "He can pick us up."

"Sam, I'm fine," said Dean, putting his trembling hand on Sam's arm. "Stop panicking."

Sam ignored him, and waited until Bobby answered. "Hey, Bobby. Can you come get us in the car? Dean's not feeling so good."

"I'm fine," Dean tried to tell him again.

" _I'm on my way, Sam. Where are ya?_ " asked Bobby, going to get the car keys.

Dean rolled his eyes as he listened to Sam giving Bobby their location. He raised his eyebrows, and turned to Sam after he hung up. "Have you finished being a mother hen now?"

"No. I'm worried, okay? I remember before when you passed out, you said that you were dizzy then. So you can't blame me for..." Sam trailed off, tears filling his eyes.

Before Dean answered, the Impala pulled to a stop beside them. "How is he?" asked Bobby, getting out of the car.

"Er... HE is right here. And I'm fine, I felt a little dizzy for a second. But Dr Paranoid here got all... paranoid."

"I'm not paranoid, you said you felt dizzy," said Sam, putting the bags into the back of the car. When he finished, him and Bobby helped Dean into the passenger seat.

"I want to drive. It's my car," said Dean, crossing his arms.

Bobby got into the driver's seat, while Sam got into the back. "You can drive all you want when you're better."

Dean scowled. "But that'll take months. I want to drive my baby. She misses me."

"I'll let ya pick the music," offered Bobby, lifting out the box of cassette tapes Dean kept in the car.

"Oh joy. I might blow up with excitement in a minute," said Dean sarcastically, reaching over to take the box to pick some music. When he pulled out a tape and put it into the cassette player, neither of the two men were surprised when Metallica's 'The Unforgiven' came on.

While Dean listened to the music, he sank down a little, and rested his head on the back of the seat.

Bobby shared a concerned look with Sam, before he started driving them back home.

* * *

When they arrived, they started unpacking the trunk of the car to carry the shopping in. Dean picked up one of the bags, but Bobby took it off him.

"No. Yer not carrying anything."

"I want to help, Bobby. I'm not an invalid."

Sam walked over, and guided Dean into the house. "You need to rest."

Bobby got the bags out of the car, while Sam helped Dean inside. The younger Winchester walked Dean over to the couch, and helped him lay down, before covering him up.

"I swear, I can't do anything. I'm fine, Sam. I'll be completely bored if I've got nothing to do... I may go insane," said Dean, wiggling his eyebrows.

Sam laughed. "Nothing new there then."

"Hey, I'm sick, you can't pick on me," Dean moaned, his bottom lip poking out.

"You're admitting you're sick now, are you? You were fine a minute ago."

Dean shifted uncomfortably. "Can you put the TV on?"

"Sure. What do you want on?" asked Sam, getting the remote.

"Just go through the channels, there's got to be something on."

"Okay." Sam sat on the couch, and lifted Dean's legs onto his lap. "What about this?" he asked, stopping on an action movie.

"Sure. Why not."

Several minutes later, Sam grinned, and started tickling Dean's feet.

Dean laughed, and kicked Sam in the ribs. "Get off, you freak."

"What? I didn't do anything," said Sam with an innocent expression.

Dean mock-glared at him, and turned on his side to face the screen.

It wasn't long before he fell asleep.

* * *

A couple of hours later, Sam was sat watching Dean sleeping.

"Hey, Sam. Are ya going to wake sleeping beauty for some food?" asked Bobby, popping his head around the door.

Sam nodded, and leaned forward to wake his brother. "Hey, Dean?" he said quietly, stroking Dean's arm gently. "Are you going to wake up for me?"

Dean moaned, and moved slightly. "Wha-?" he asked sleepily, sitting up slowly, and rubbing his eyes. "What's wrong?"

"It's time for dinner. Do you want me to ask Bobby to bring yours in here?"

"Hell no. I think I can make it to the kitchen. And if you even think about carrying me, I'll kick your ass."

Sam rolled his eyes, and helped Dean stand up by putting one arm around his waist. When Dean was ready, he nodded, and the two walked into the kitchen.

"Hey, it lives," Bobby joked, putting the food on the table.

Dean sat down at the table, and immediately started playing with the food with his fork. For the first time in his life, burger and fries didn't look all that appetising, and made him feel nauseous just looking at it.

"What's wrong? You used to love burgers."

Dean shrugged. "I know, but I just..." He dropped his head into his hands, and sighed in annoyance. "I can't... Sorry."

"Hey, hey. Shh. It's alright... If you can't eat this, I'll make you something else," offered Sam, pushing his chair back to stand.

"No. It's okay," said Dean, reaching over to stop Sam from standing up. "Eat yours. I'll be fine."

"Okay," Sam agreed. "But as soon as I'm done, I'm making you something."

* * *

When Sam was done eating, he stood and went straight to the fridge to get Dean something to eat. "What about some chicken? Or... Ooh some pizza?"

Dean swallowed heavily. "Uh... How about a sandwich?"

"Okie dokie. A sandwich coming right up," said Sam, getting the chicken slices out of the fridge.

"Er... Okie dokie?" asked Dean with raised eyebrows. "Since when the hell do you say 'okie dokie'?"

"I don't know. I'm in a good mood, is that illegal?"

"No. But it's weird."

Sam put a few pieces of chicken into two slices of bread, and cut it into four. "There you go," he said, placing the plate in-front of him.

"Thanks." Dean took a deep breath, and picked up a small sandwich. He tried to ignore the two men staring at him, and took a small bite, chewing slowly. When he swallowed, he smiled slightly at Sam. "It's good."

Sam grinned at him. "Great. Try a little more."

Dean nodded, and took another bite. He managed to eat only one piece of the four, but it was the most he had eaten since he got out of hospital. "I'm done."

"You did great, Dean. You ate a full piece, instead of only two or three mouthfuls." Sam stood suddenly, and clapped his hands once. "This calls for celebration."

Dean stared at Sam as if he had gone mad. "I only ate a quarter of a sandwich, how the hell is that something to celebrate?"

Sam shrugged, then his eyes went wide when he remembered Dean's anti-depressants. He got them out of his pocket, and gave one to Dean. "There we go."

"Thanks," said Dean, taking it with a mouthful of soda. "What are we going to do?"

"Do you want to watch the Shining? Ooh, then we can watch one flew over the cuckoos nest."

"Awesome. What are we waiting for?" asked Dean, getting up and rushing into the living room. "Come on."

Sam and Bobby laughed at Dean's excitement as they followed him into the room to see him already sitting on the couch.

"I'll be back in a sec," said Sam, going upstairs to get the DVDs. He came back down to see Bobby in his chair, and Dean sitting back on the couch with the blanket over him again. "Shining or cuckoos nest first?"

"THE SHINING!" yelled the two men at once, making Sam laugh.

"The Shining it is." Sam put the DVD on, and joined him on the couch. "You did good today, Dean," he said, putting his arm around him, so he could lean against him.

"Shh. I'm watching the movie," Dean whispered, not taking his eyes from the TV.

* * *

Dean only managed to watch the Shining and almost half an hour of one flew over the cuckoos nest before he fell asleep.

Sam smiled, and held Dean a little tighter. "Hey, Bobby. I'm going to get Dean upstairs, he won't sleep too good on the couch. See you in the morning." He got up carefully and slowly so he didn't wake Dean up, and lifted his sleeping brother into his arms.

"Night, Sam. Shouldn't ya wake him up? He'd kick yer ass if he knew ya carried him to bed like a pair of newly-weds."

"He's tired, Bobby. He barely sleeps during the night. I'm not waking him up, he needs his rest."

Bobby rolled his eyes. "Fine. Do ya need any help?"

"No. I've got him." Sam adjusted Dean slightly, and started walking up the stairs. "It's alright," he whispered when Dean shifted slightly.

Dean sniffled sleepily, but remained asleep, unaware of Sam carrying him to bed.

When he made it to their bedroom, Sam gently nudged the door open, and carried Dean over to the bed furthest from the door. "There we go," he said, laying him down gently, and covering him up.

"Goodnight, Dean." Sam climbed into his own bed, laying on his side so he could watch his brother sleep until he fell asleep too.

**TBC**


	10. Chapter 10

"Dean? Are you alright in there?" asked Sam, knocking on the bathroom door. Dean had been in there for half an hour, and Sam was getting worried. "Dean?" There was still no answer, so he turned the handle, and was surprised when the door opened.

"Dean?" Sam walked in and saw his brother, who was standing in-front of the full-length mirror in his boxers, staring at himself. "What's wrong?" he asked, putting his hand gently on Dean's bony back, trying to ignore the fact that he could feel the raised ridges of his spine.

Dean continued to stare at his reflection. His skin was so pale and looked like a thin layer of flesh was tautly stretched over his face and clung onto his bones as if they were the only things left to cling to. His eyes looked slightly sunken, and wide, the skin around those eyes looked like dark smudges. "I-I look..." he trailed off, a tear falling down his cheek. "I... I didn't realise what I was doing. But I..."

"Shh. It's okay. You'll be back to your old self in a few months... if you keep doing what you're doing," Sam told him, rubbing his back gently.

"I don't even look like me anymore... I look ugly."

"You're not ugly, Dean. You still look like your old self... but a little... or a lot thinner."

"I look like a skeleton with skin. I'm... I'm all bones. Look." Dean ran his hand over his body, over his prominent ribs and down his concave stomach, and his protruding hip bones. "My face... It's so... thin. I could play Skeletor's twin brother. I am ugly."

Sam put his arm around the thin frame. "Dean, listen to me... You are not ugly. You never have been, you never will be."

Dean looked up at Sam through the mirror for a few seconds, before looking back at himself. "I look so pale. And I have black marks under my eyes... I swear if either gets worse, I'll start looking like Beetlejuice."

"You always say you like him. He'll take it as a complement you want to look like him."

"I don't want to look like him, he's a 600 year old dead guy who hates being clean. I don't do stripes." Dean shook his head. "I want to look like me... but I don't."

"Listen to me, you will get better, and you're going to be back to normal. It'll take awhile, but you will get there."

"How could I do this to myself?" asked Dean, his big green eyes wandering the full length of his thin body in the mirror. He looked like a skeleton with a thin layer of skin covering the bones.

"Dean, it's not your fault. It's the depression and the eating disorder... It's not your fault, you can't help it. You're sick," Sam tried telling him, squeezing his shoulder gently.

Dean stopped paying attention, and started running his hand over his thin face. He winced when all he could feel was bone as his fingertips fluttered over prominent cheekbones. For the first time in months he actually realised what he now looked like. "My eyes look huge... I hate my freckles, I forgot I had them... but they're really whoa... right there."

"The paler you are, the more noticeable your freckles are. I think they make you look younger."

Dean sighed, and brought his other hand to his face. "I look like one of the bodies we've salted and burned come to life. People I knew years ago won't even recognise me right now."

Sam bit his lip, and shook Dean gently. "Just because you look skinnier, doesn't mean you look like a completely different person."

"It doesn't matter what you say, Sam. It isn't going to change what I feel about myself. Looks like I did a pretty good job on the wanting to die thing. I-I should've..." Dean took a shuddering breath, and started sobbing. "I look almost dead already."

Sam's eyes filled with tears as he held him properly. "Shh." The brothers sank to their knees, Sam holding Dean tightly in the middle of the bathroom. "I've got you," he whispered, resting his cheek against Dean's hair. He stroked Dean's bare back gently, being careful to avoid the prominent spine and the sharp edges of his shoulder blades, and started rocking him back and forth, trying to comfort his distraught brother while he cried.

For the next twenty minutes, the only sounds that could be heard in the small bathroom were the sounds of Dean crying, and Sam's soothing whispers.

* * *

Finally, Dean's sobs became sniffles. "I'm sorry," he whispered, wiping his face with a trembling hand.

"No need to apologise. Are you ready to get up now?"

Dean shifted even closer to Sam. "I just need..."

"It's okay. Take as long as you need, I'm right here."

"You better not tell anyone about this, or I'll kick your ass."

"I'll let you kick my ass all you want when you're better."

Dean pinched Sam's arm. "You'll **let** me? I don't need you to let me, I could kick your ass when I'm asleep on a good day."

"I bet you could. I bet you could even kick the devil's ass," said Sam with a proud smile.

"Right now, I couldn't even kick my own ass," Dean joked, but suddenly became serious again as he looked up. "Hey Sam?"

"Yeah? What's wrong?" asked Sam, lowering his head slightly to look at Dean.

Dean was silent for a minute, then asked the question that had been bothering him for months, "D-Do you think Dad's in hell?"

"Uh... I don't know, Dean."

"I think he is. It's my fault, it should be me there instead of him."

Sam tried not to let the tears slip, but two fell down his cheeks. "No Dean. You know I loved Dad, but he's not you. I would never have survived it if I lost you instead. If I had to choose between you and dad, it'll be you every single time. Me and dad always ended up arguing when we were alone for a few minutes. But us two? We're best friends as well as brothers. I can't tell you how happy I was when you woke up."

"You big girl. I'll start calling you Samantha," Dean teased, but his eyes were swimming with tears.

"Hey, you big bully."

Dean laughed, and wiped his remaining tears. "Thanks Sam."

"For what?"

"For being here with me. For helping me through this. I mean, if it wasn't for you... I-I would've died already. But you made me..." Dean sighed, and bit his lip again. "You made me realise I'm... better off here." He paused to tap his temple. "But there's still this voice that keeps telling me to do it, t-to... to die. But I'm doing my best to ignore it. And that's because of you."

Sam closed his eyes, and hugged Dean as tight as he dared. "You're stronger than you think, Dean."

"I don't feel that strong," whispered Dean, playing with the sleeve of Sam's shirt.

"You're the strongest man I know. Compared to you, Superman seems like just a normal man."

"Right now I feel like the Twigman." Dean playfully slapped Sam around the head. "You know I hate Superman. Batman's the best."

Sam rolled his eyes. "I'm so sorry I forgot about your boyfriend," he said as he shifted slightly. His legs were going numb after sitting on the cold bathroom floor for so long, but he wasn't going anywhere until Dean was ready.

"And I used to be cool," whispered Dean, wiping his nose on Sam's shirt.

"You still are. You make Fonzie seem like a geek. Everyone always says he's the coolest guy, but they haven't met you... And do you mind?" asked Sam, wiping the snot from his shirt.

"No I babysit."

Sam had to smile. They hadn't acted like this for ages.

Dean got serious again. "Hey, Sam? Are you sure I'm not ugly? I know you said I'm not, but you're my brother... you could be saying that."

"Dean, if I thought you were ugly, I'd say you were. But you're not. Do **you** think you're ugly?"

"I used to think I was handsome," answered Dean with a tiny smile. "But now? I'm... I'm too bony. That's not very attractive. I bet if we went to a bar right now, nobody would even look at me. I mean... my looks were kinda like my superpower, you know?"

"To me, you haven't changed at all... apart from the weight thing. But your face still looks like it did before. When I look at you, I still see my big brother... a little thinner than he used to be. But I still see my Dean, and not somebody with depression and an eating disorder. And I bet if we get some meat on your bones, then you would be able to get all the girls again."

"Yeah. I swear when I'm better, the first thing I'm going to do is go to the nearest bar, and pick up all the girls I can."

Sam grinned. It was great to see a bit of Dean's confidence come back. "That's more like it. That's the Dean I know and love."

Dean looked down at himself, and cleared his throat. "Hey Sam? I just noticed that I'm sat here in the middle of the bathroom with you in my underwear. I need to do something manly now." He sighed, and wiped all traces of him crying, and sat up straighter. "Sammy? Uh... Thanks."

"Don't mention it, Dean." Sam reached into his pocket. "I forgot the reason I came to check on you. You forgot to take this," he told him, holding out one of Dean's pills. "Here."

Dean took the pill, and held it in his palm, staring down at it. "This is the reason I don't feel so bad, isn't it? They're for depression?"

Sam bit his lip, and reluctantly nodded. "Yeah. I didn't want to tell you what they really were in-case you denied being depressed, and stopped taking them. I'm sorry I lied."

Dean nodded, and swallowed the pill dry. "It's okay, I guess. They are helping me, so I suppose you weren't really lying. It took me awhile, but with the doctor, you and Bobby... I finally realised you were all right. I didn't want to admit I was depressed and I had... that." He waved his hand, dismissing his eating problem.

Sam smiled. At least Dean was finally admitting he had problems.

When they stood up, Sam put his hand on Dean's arm, and led him to their room to get dressed.

Sam knew it was going to take awhile, but with Bobby helping, he knew they would both be able to put the broken pieces of his brother back together.

**TBC**


	11. Chapter 11

"You want to what?" asked a shocked Sam, five days after Dean's breakdown in the bathroom.

"I want to go on a hunt, Sam. Are you deaf?"

"Dean... y-you... Are you insane? There's no way in hell you're going on a hunt. Do I have to remind you of the last time you went on a hunt and you passed out?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Sam, I'm fine. I really need to get back to hunting. I hate being stuck here, I'm bored."

"Yeah, well that's too bad. But you are not going on a hunt until you're better... and I don't care how long it takes. I'll handcuff us together if I have to."

"Okaaaay. That didn't make us sound gay or anything. What am I supposed to do then?"

"You're supposed to be resting, like the doctor said. And if I hear you say even one more word about hunting before you're better, I'm going to hit you."

Bobby was sitting at the kitchen table, watching them. "Sam's right, Dean. It's too dangerous to be hunting in yer condition. And if  **I**  hear ya say anything else about hunting, I'm getting the shotgun out."

Dean sighed and sat at the table. "Fine. Fricking mother hens."

"We're only worried about you, okay? You're still sick. Not to mention as thin as a rake. The only place you're going in your condition is the house and maybe the yard."

"Wow. I'll try and get excited about that later," said Dean sarcastically. He propped his elbow on the table, and rested his chin in his hand, sighing dramatically. "Oh my god, I'm going to die of boredom."

Sam and Bobby looked at each other with fond smiles. "Stop being so dramatic. Hey, if Sam lets ya out of the house, ya can come out in the garage with me for a bit."

"Whoohoo. The garage. I might blow up with excitement in a minute." Dean looked out of the window, and smiled slightly. "Can I help with a car?" he asked, looking like a little kid.

"It depends if yer good or not."

"Bobby, I'm not a child, you know." Dean looked over at Sam, and started fluttering his eyelashes. "Okay mother, can I go out and play with all the pretty cars?"

Sam laughed. "Only if you promise to take it easy, and come in if you get tired."

"Oh my god. It's hard to choose who is worse, you or Bobby."

"Dean, you're not going anywhere until you promise to take it easy."

"Oh, he'll take it easy, Sam. I'll be there to keep an eye on him," Bobby said with a smirk when Dean started glaring at them both.

"You two are driving me insane. Okay, I'll take it easy. Can I go now?"

Bobby nodded, and stood. "I'll meet ya outside. It's pretty cold and a bit windy, so get plenty of layers on, because I'm not going to chase ya if the breeze picks up and ya end up flying around the yard," he said, before going out to the garage.

"Oh thanks. You're all heart," said Dean, going to get his jacket on.

Sam followed him, and picked up his hoodie. "Here. This will keep you warm... and hopefully it'll be enough so the wind doesn't knock you over."

Dean snatched the hoodie from him, and quickly put it on.

"Are you warm enough?" asked Sam, fastening the hoodie.

"Sam, will you quit it?" Dean knocked Sam's hands away. "I'll be fine."

"You better be. Hunting is too dangerous right now... If a ghost floated by or... I don't know, a demon sneezed or something, it'll end up knocking you over. You can't blame me for being so worried. You better look after yourself out there."

"Okay, fine. While I'm out in the garage, I'll be on the lookout for floaty ghosts and sneezing demons," said Dean with a straight face.

Sam rolled his eyes, but smiled. "You better. I'll call you in when I've made lunch, okay?"

"Yes mother. Can I go play now?"

"Yeah. You jerk," said Sam with a fond look.

* * *

Out in the garage, Bobby was waiting for Dean. "Hey, there ya are. Yer going to help me with this one."

"Okay," said Dean, walking over to the car. "What have you checked on it?"

"Not much yet, I've only had it since yesterday," Bobby told him, adjusting the little light he used. "Can ya see inside the car okay?"

Dean nodded, and leaned over slightly to get a better look.

While Bobby watched Dean look the car over, he noticed his hand trembling. "Are ya alright?"

Dean closed his eyes, and lowered his head. "For the last time, I'm fine... Hey, I rhymed."

"If ya need a break, I brought a chair out with me," Bobby told him, nodding at the chair.

"Great," sighed Dean, leaning a little closer at the car battery. "That looks weird."

"No, it's not that. I checked."

Dean nodded, and got to work.

* * *

"Hey, Bobby. Pass me that wrench," said Dean, holding his hand out.

"There ya go." He passed the young man what he had asked for. "What's the trouble?"

"Just need to..." Dean trailed off as he used the tool to tighten something.

Bobby watched him while he worked almost effortlessly to repair the carburetor. "Yer doing good, son," he praised as Dean started on the next problem.

Dean looked at Bobby with a slightly black face, and smirked. "I know."

The two were only working for five more minutes when Sam came out to check on Dean.

"How are you doing?" he asked, handing Dean a glass of juice.

"Fine, Sam. Bobby asked me that two minutes ago. I swear, the next person to ask me that in the next hour, I'm going to start throwing punches," he threatened, wiping his face with the cloth, before taking a sip of the juice.

The other two looked at each other, and smiled. "Alright then. I'll start on lunch," said Sam, before going back into the house.

Dean worked for a couple of minutes until Bobby took hold of his arm. "Come on, yer taking a short break."

"Oh come on, Bobby. I've only been working for like twenty minutes."

"That's long enough. Sit down. If ya don't, I'll knock ya down. Now sit."

Dean sat with a glare at the older man. "I'm not a frigging dog," he grumbled.

Bobby shook his head, and finished what Dean had started.

* * *

When Bobby finally let him work again, they were working on the next car.

"Hey Bobby, I think it's the engine."

Bobby joined him. "Where?" he asked, adjusting the light.

"Th..." Dean straightened, and had to steady himself. "Whoa."

"Dean? Are ya alright, son?" asked a worried Bobby, leading him over to the chair.

Dean closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. "Yeah. I think I stood too fast, that's all."

"We better get ya in the house," suggested Bobby when he saw Dean turn a shade paler.

"No. Just give me a minute."

"No way. Sam would kill me if I let ya work after nearly passing out. We're going back in whether ya like it or not." He grabbed Dean's arm, and helped him stand up.

As the two walked slowly back to the house, Bobby never removed his arm from around Dean's shoulders.

Sam almost dropped what he was holding when he saw Bobby bring a pale, trembling Dean into the kitchen. "What happened?" he asked, rushing forward to help. He took Dean's other arm, and helped Bobby sit him in the closest chair at the table. "What the hell happened?"

"He almost passed out."

"I did not nearly pass out, I felt a little dizzy, because I stood too fast."

"Whichever it was, you're not going back out there."

Dean sighed in exasperation. "You two are going to be even worse now, aren't you?"

"Er... yeah. I knew you wouldn't listen to me and rest," said Sam with a frown, kneeling beside him to feel his forehead.

"He did rest, Sam. I had to practically force him to take a five minute break."

"Five minutes? It was more like fifteen."

"After lunch, you're resting on the couch. The only thing you're allowed to move is your hand to turn the TV over. And before you start moaning, remember I've got Bobby on my side."

Dean crossed his arms, and started glaring. "Fine, whatever. But if I go insane, and end up killing you both... don't blame me, it'll be your own faults."

"Yeah, okay." Sam stood, and turned to Bobby. "Keep your eye on him, I'm almost done with lunch."

* * *

When lunch was ready, both Sam and Bobby were watching Dean, who was mostly playing with his food.

"Dean, will you eat it?" asked Sam, twirling the pasta on his fork. "I didn't put that much on your plate, so you could try and eat it all."

Dean slowly ate a little mouthful of the pasta, then turned to Sam. "There, are you happy?"

"Yeah. Now eat a little more."

"I might do if you both stop staring at me." Dean managed one more mouthful, before he put the fork down. "I'm done."

Sam looked at the plate, and sighed. Dean had barely managed to eat any of the child-sized portion he had given him, but he smiled. "Okay. At least you ate some." He got Dean's pills out, and placed one in his palm. "Time for this."

After Dean took the pill with a sip of water, Sam helped him stand, and led him to the couch. "The only place you're going is to the bathroom. Let one of us know if you need to go. But for now, lay there, and take it easy," Sam told him, covering him up.

"Do I need permission to breathe too?" asked Dean, taking the remote.

"Don't be a smartass, Dean. You can't blame me for being worried, and overprotective. It wasn't that long ago you wouldn't wake up, and you were in hospital."

Dean's face softened slightly. "I'm fine, Sam. Okay, maybe not... but I will be." He put his thin bony hand over Sam's. "Try and chill out a little, I won't pass out if you take your eyes off me for a second, you know."

Sam put his other hand over Dean's, holding it in both of his. "You don't know that," he said, eyes filling with tears. "I almost lost you, and you..." He paused to wipe his tears. "I don't even know how you're still going with so little food. It's more than nothing, but... It's still not enough."

Dean looked down at their joined hands. "I'm doing my best, Sam. I... even though you're driving me a little crazy, I still need you." He wouldn't look up at Sam as he spoke. "I can't do this otherwise."

"Well, I'm not going anywhere," Sam promised, and squeezed Dean's hand slightly.

Dean smiled. "Good. Neither am I."

"You better not." He reached over, and hugged Dean gently. "I don't know what I would do if I lost you," he whispered, the tears falling down his cheeks.

"You won't lose me, Sam," Dean reassured his upset brother. "I promise."

Sam closed his eyes, and hugged Dean a little tighter.

After several minutes passed, Dean sighed. "Er... Sam? Are you going to let me go sometime today, or what?" 

Sam laughed slightly, and pulled away, wiping his face. "Sorry."

"Hey bitch, do you want to watch a movie?" asked Dean, nodding at the TV, where a car chase was on.

"Sure," said Sam, sitting on the couch, and carefully laying Dean's legs over his while they watched the movie together.

"Wow. That's awesome," said Dean, staring at the screen.

Sam never looked away from his brother as he said, "Yeah... really awesome."

**TBC**


	12. Chapter 12

 

Nearly a week later, Dean and Sam came back from Dean's hospital appointment. That was one of the conditions of Dean's early release, to keep going back to keep an eye on his weight.

"Hey Bobby," greeted Dean, coming in first.

"Hey son. How are ya doing?"

Dean sat down on the couch. "I'm fi-"

He was cut off as Sam came bounding into the room. "Bobby guess what? Dean put on half a pound. How great is that?" he asked, sitting beside Dean with a big grin.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Sam will you quit it? It's half a pound, it's nothing."

"It's not nothing. No matter how big or small it is, you put on a tiny bit of weight. At least we know you're actually keeping it down."

"That's good, Dean. Yer brother's right. No matter how much it is, any weight on is a good thing."

Sam hadn't stopped grinning all the way home, and he was starting to freak Dean out. "Maybe next time it could be a whole pound, maybe two," he said, before suddenly throwing his arms around Dean. "I'm proud of you."

Dean sighed, and let Sam hug him. He checked his watch when the hug seemed to last for several minutes. "Sam, can you let me go now?"

"Yeah, sorry." Sam pulled away, his face slightly red. "I can't believe you did it."

"Yeah, I guess I'm getting fat now, huh?" Dean joked with a tiny smile.

Sam laughed. "If only. You still have a long way to go. If you continue the way you are, you could be back to normal in maybe a year. Ooh. We should go out and celebrate. We could go to a diner or something."

Dean's smile dropped. "Er... I don't know, Sam."

"What's wrong?"

"I... I don't want to go out to eat."

"Dean, you're going to have to try and start going out," Sam told him, putting his hand on Dean's shoulder. "Me and Bobby will be right there. And if you want, we'll sit right at the back where there's nobody else."

Dean looked over at Bobby, then back at Sam. "Fine," he said, shaking his head.

"Come on then. Are you ready now?"

"What's the rush?"

"It's lunchtime. You need food," Sam told him, helping him stand.

Dean looked over at Bobby again. "You're both not going to leave me alone until I agree, are you?"

"No," answered Sam, grinning again. "I'll drive."

"Sam, we're going to lunch, not to kill Batman," he said, referring to Sam's big grin.

"Sorry. I'm just happy... and so proud of you."

"Wow. If you're this happy over half a pound, imagine what you'll be like if it's more next time."

"If next time you've put on at least a full pound, we'll have a party."

"Bit dramatic, don't you think?" asked Dean with one raised eyebrow.

Sam shrugged. "Come on. Are you ready, Bobby?"

"Yeah." Bobby stood from his chair, and joined the brothers. "Will ya be warm enough?" he asked Dean.

"I'm fine, I've got two jackets on. Are we going or what?"

After making sure they had everything they needed, the three of them walked out to the Impala. "There you go," said Sam, opening the passenger door.

Dean got into the car with a glare. Sam had been like that all day, it was driving him mad.

"Do you want the heating on?" Sam asked him, getting into the driver's seat. "What music do you want on?"

"Well, with the amount of chick-flick moments we're having, why don't we get the guitars out and sing Kumbaya while we braid Sam's hair," answered Dean, staring out of the window.

"We're not that bad. Do you want the heating on," he asked again, starting the car. "Or are you warm enough?"

"Oh my god," Dean whispered to himself. "Sam, I swear if you don't quit it, I'll take my knife and cut your frigging hair off."

Sam flinched, and unconsciously ran his hand through his hair, making Bobby laugh from the backseat.

* * *

At the diner, Sam and Bobby walked in with Dean standing between them. The older Winchester kept his gaze down so he didn't have to see how crowded the place was, and as they walked further in, his heart kicked into overdrive.

"Come on, we'll sit in the back," said Sam, leading them over to the back tables. He let Dean sit down first, so he could sit near the wall, before sliding in beside him.

As they waited to be served, Dean looked around nervously, his left leg bouncing up and down. Sam noticed that Dean seemed even paler than usual, but knew he would say he was fine, so he didn't ask.

Dean glared over at the door when a young man came in, singing drunkenly.

"Oh joy, that's all we need," said Sam quietly, looking through the menu. "What do you want?"

Dean shrugged, playing with his sleeves. "Don't care," he said, rubbing his hands together under the table. His palms felt damp and the trembling in his hands was even more prominent than it usually was.

A waitress came over with a small notepad, and smiled at the three men. "Hey, what can I get you guys?"

After Sam and Bobby ordered, the waitress turned to Dean. "What about you, handsome?"

Dean frowned, and looked behind him. When he didn't see anyone else, he turned back to her. "Are you talking to me?"

"Of course. What do you want?"

"Uh... Coffee and..." Dean looked through the menu, trying to ignore the weird sensation in his stomach which felt like a washing machine on a spin cycle. "Er... Do you have scrambled eggs?"

"Sure. Scrambled egg and coffee coming right up, handsome."

Dean waited until the waitress had left, before turning back to Sam and Bobby. "Why does she keep calling me handsome?"

"Like I told you before Dean, you're still a good-looking guy. You may not think so right now, but you're the only one who thinks that."

"He's right, son. Just because yer as skinny as a broom handle, doesn't mean yer ugly." Bobby hoped Dean got his confidence back soon, he hated Dean to think he wasn't worth much, and that he wasn't attractive anymore.

The waitress brought the three men their coffees. "Food will be another five minutes."

"Okay, thanks."

Dean took a long drink of his hot coffee. His mouth felt very dry, everytime he swallowed it felt like he was swallowing a handful of cotton balls and his tongue felt like cardboard.

Dean sighed when the guy near the door started singing 'Zip-a-dee-doo-dah' over and over. "God, is he a frigging child, or what?" he asked, shaking his head. He already had a headache.

"No. I think he might be a little drunk."

The little family made small talk until the waitress walked over with their lunches five minutes later.

Before Dean could eat anything, he clenched his jaw, and threw his fork down. "I swear to god, I'm going to Zip-a-dee his frigging doo-dah in a minute if he doesn't shut the hell up."

Sam couldn't help laughing. "Ignore him."

"I'm trying." Dean looked around him again to make sure nobody was too near him or watching him. Bobby and Sam had both noticed how nervous he seemed to be, but didn't mention it.

The waitress came back over to refill their coffees. Dean seemed to be trying to mold himself into the wall when she kept smiling at him, making Sam sit even closer to Dean.

When she was gone, Dean turned to glare at Sam. "For crying out loud, Sam. Why don't you sit on my knee, and get it over with?"

"Sorry." Sam couldn't help feeling very protective of his brother, who was doing his best not to be noticed by anyone while he ate slowly. His face was even paler than it usually was, making the dark stains under his eyes stand out like bruises, and sweat was beginning to trace its way down from his forehead.

The two men kept shooting glances at Dean to make sure he was okay and he was eating. The older Winchester only ate a tiny bit at a time, but he was eating outside for the first time in months, even though it was clear he didn't want to.

After only four tiny mouthfuls, Dean put his fork down. "I'm done," he said, covering his mouth for a second.

"Are you alright?" asked Sam worriedly.

Dean took a couple of deep breaths and swallowed heavily. "I-I'm..." He trailed off when his stomach clenched and he suddenly felt as if he needed to be sick. He moaned, and started shoving Sam out of the way.

"Crap." Sam shot up, and helped him to stand. "Come on," he said, carefully leading him to the toilets at the back. "I've got you."

As soon as Dean was in the little cubicle, he locked the door, and fell to his knees seconds before he started throwing up. He grabbed the edge of the toilet as his stomach rolled painfully, his body heaving uncontrollably as it tried to expel the small amount of food he had just eaten.

Sam stood outside the door, biting his fingernail in worry while he listened to Dean being sick. "Dean? Are you alright?" he asked, but all he got in reply was a soft moan.

When the heaving finally subsided, Dean collapsed against the cubicle wall, and closed his eyes. He took a deep shuddering breath, and wiped his mouth with a shaky hand.

"Dean, can I come in?" asked Sam, knocking on the door.

Dean's eyes shot open, and he looked over at the toilet. "Nonono," he whispered, his eyes going wide in horror when he realised he had been sick. He brought his knees up to his chest and buried his head in his arms. "Not again."

"Open the door, Dean. I need to know if you're alright."

Tears streamed down Dean's face, and he threw his head back against the wall. He couldn't remember if he had made himself sick, or if he was sick naturally. But to him, he had let his brother down again.

"I'm sorry," he whispered tearfully to himself. "I'm sorry, Sammy."

**TBC**


	13. Chapter 13

"Dean, please open the door," begged Sam, banging on the toilet door for the eighth time.

Dean closed his eyes. "Sorry Sammy," he repeated in a tear-filled voice.

"It's alright, Dean. Please open the door."

"I-I can't," came the reply.

Sam turned, and sank to the floor outside the little cubicle, so his back was against the door. "Dean, I'm really worried about you. Let me come in."

Dean sniffed, and wiped his nose on the sleeve of Sam's hoodie. "Y-You hate... me."

"Dean, I could never hate you. Why would I hate you?"

"I couldn't... Sam, I'm sorry," Dean cried, covering his face.

"Dean, stop apologising. Please open the door, so I can see you're okay."

"I-I'm not okay, Sammy," Dean admitted quietly. He didn't have the strength to be strong anymore.

Tears filled Sam's eyes at the quiet confession. "I know, Dean. That's why I'm right here... to help you get better."

"I've disappointed you... I couldn't do it."

"Dean, you can do it. You put on half a pound in weight. That's amazing," Sam tried to get through to him, but he wasn't sure if even he could get through to Dean this time.

"No."

"Yes it is, Dean. You will get better if you keep doing what you're doing. Bobby and I will be right here with you every step of the way... I promise."

"Is everything alright?" asked Bobby, coming into the bathroom. He looked worried when he saw Sam sitting outside one of the cubicles, near tears. "Sam?"

Sam wiped his tears. "He won't come out. He thinks he's disappointed me... because he was sick."

Bobby joined the younger Winchester. "Dean, it's Bobby. Ya haven't disappointed anyone, so get yer skinny little ass out here... before I come in there, and drag ya out myself."

"Bobby," hissed Sam through clenched teeth.

Bobby ignored him, and banged on the door. "Dean?"

Dean didn't hear him, he was staring blankly at the wall in-front of him, humming Metallica to himself.

Sam frowned, and stood up. "Dean? Are you alright in there?" No answer. "DEAN! I'm coming in," he warned, before kicking the door open. He had to take a step back when the door rebounded, and nearly smacked him in the face. "Dean?" He froze when he saw the state of his brother, who was wedged in the tiny space between the toilet and the wall, rocking himself back and forth, humming.

"Hey, can you hear me?" asked Sam, kneeling in-front of Dean, and grabbing the thin face between his hands. "Dean, snap out of it, and look at me. Please. You're scaring me here, man. Dean."

Dean blinked slowly, and turned big teary green eyes to his little brother. "S'm?"

Sam smiled, and let out a sigh of relief. "Yeah, it's me."

"Why?" Dean whispered, looking confused and lost.

"What do you mean why? Why what?"

"Why are you here?" Dean replied in a small voice.

Sam felt slightly hurt that Dean would even ask that. "Because you're my brother, Dean... because I care about you. I love you, you dumbass."

"You shouldn't," he whispered tearfully. "I let you down."

"No you didn't," Sam disagreed, shaking his head violently. "You didn't let me down, Dean. You were sick... it happens. Did you want to be sick?"

Dean frowned, and looked down at his hands. "I can't remember... B-But I couldn't before."

"I don't care if you were sick by accident or on purpose... it won't make me hate you, nothing will." Sam swore his heart nearly shattered at the sight of his broken big brother. Dean wasn't even trying to pretend he was okay any more.

Bobby was standing at the door, near tears as he watched Sam try to talk some sense into Dean. "He's right, Dean. Yer both my boys. I don't care if yer not actually my sons, I love ya both like ya were mine, and nothing will change that."

Sam nodded, and smiled at Dean. "See? Even if you did make yourself sick, you can't help it... you're sick."

"Huh?" asked a confused Dean.

"Okay, I'll say that so it makes sense... The reason you're sick is because you're not well. It's not your fault, Dean. It's not your fault, you hear me?"

"B-But..."

Sam gently shook him by the shoulders. "It. Is. Not. Your. Fault," he repeated slowly. "Say it."

Dean took a deep breath, and shook his head. "I-I-It... I can't."

"Yes, you can," said Sam, smiling in encouragement. "You can do it. I know you can. This isn't your fault, and we don't hate you."

Dean looked him in the eye, and saw nothing but love and honesty. "I-It... It's..."

"Go on."

"It's... n-not..." Dean closed his eyes. "It's n-n-not... m-my fault," he whispered quietly.

Sam's smile widened, and he threw his arms around him, hugging him tightly but gently. He didn't blame Dean for being like this, if he blamed anyone, it was himself.

One of the customers came into the bathroom, and frowned when he saw the two men in the cubicle, hugging each other. "Ugh. Get a room, you gay boys," he said with a disgusted expression.

Bobby turned on him, clenching his fists. "Do ya want to say that again?"

"It's alright, Bobby," said Sam, standing beside him, holding a trembling Dean against his side protectively. "Not that it's any of your business, but my brother is sick. You say one more word about him, I'll be flushing your head down the toilet."

The man glanced at Dean for a second. "In my opinion, you're both sick." He tried to walk to the nearest toilet, but was stopped by Bobby.

"Have ya got a death wish? I think it's obvious that boy is sick. Y-"

Dean cut him off by putting a thin hand on his arm. "Stop it," he said in a quiet voice. "I'm not worth it, let it go." He pushed himself away from Sam, and made his slow and shaky way to the bathroom door, pulling the hood up as he went.

Sam glared at the stranger, and ran after Dean. "Come on, let's get you home." He helped his brother out of the diner, ignoring the looks he got from the other customers. He felt Dean try to pull away from him, but he tightened his grip on the bony shoulders. "I'm not going anywhere," he whispered so only Dean could hear him.

Sam got Dean into the back, and climbed in beside him. It was freaking him out how silent Dean was. As he watched Dean, he sank back against the leather, trying to bury himself in Sam's hoodie.

If he wasn't worried before, he certainly was now. Sam hoped Dean didn't give up all the hard work he had been doing, and he continued letting his family help him.

When Bobby made it to the car, nobody commented on the bruised knuckles as he started the car to drive his boys home.

**TBC**


	14. Chapter 14

When they pulled up outside Bobby's, Sam was about to get out when he noticed Dean slipping further against him. "Dean?" he asked, lifting him up slightly. "Are yo-" He broke off when he saw Dean's eyes were closed.

"Is everything alright?" asked Bobby, opening the back door.

"Er... Yeah. Dean's fallen asleep, I think he's exhausted himself."

"Wake him up and bring him in," The older man told him, before he walked up to his house, leaving the door open so his boys could come in.

"Dean?" whispered Sam, shaking his shoulder gently. "Hey."

Dean sniffed, and moved slightly, but he stayed asleep.

Sam sighed, and looked behind him. It wasn't far up to the house, so he gently adjusted Dean, so he had his arms under his shoulders and knees. "Don't kill me for this," he said as he shifted backwards and made his way out of the car with Dean in his arms.

He stood still for a minute, and looked down at the thin bony face of his brother. "I'm sorry. I should've..." he broke off. It wasn't fair to unload his feelings on Dean, not when he had enough problems of his own. Sam slowly made his way up to the house with the fragile form in his arms.

Bobby looked up, not really surprised to see Sam walk in, cradling Dean. "Hope ya know, Dean's going to be pissed when he finds out ya carried him."

"Who's going to tell him?" asked Sam, making his way to the couch.

"I think he could work out that he didn't sleepwalk here."

"Here we go," Sam said quietly, gently and carefully lowering Dean onto the couch. He got the cushion, and gently lifted Dean's head to put it underneath, before grabbing the blanket from the back of the couch, and covering him up. "We're going to take care of you."

As he adjusted the blanket so it covered the thin body, Sam let out a sob when he saw that Dean's body barely made a shape under the blanket. "I'm so sorry," he repeated.

Bobby watched with a frown. "Sam?"

Sam quickly pulled away from Dean, and wiped his tears. "What? What's wrong?"

"Why don't ya tell me?" asked the older man, crossing his arms.

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Sam, sitting in-front of the couch to watch Dean. He reached over, and gently took Dean's limp hand between both of his.

"Sam, It's not good to keep things bottled up... I mean, look at Dean." He gestured to the sleeping young man. "Ever since I've known him, he's always kept his emotions bottled up, until they get the better of him. And now..." Bobby shook his head sadly. "Seeing him like that breaks my heart, and I know ya feel the same way. It's not good to hide it."

Sam closed his eyes, trying to keep his emotions in check, Dean didn't need to see him like this. "I-I've got to be strong for him," he whispered so low that Bobby hardly heard him.

"Ya are being strong for him, Sam. Since ya found out about him not eating, ya never leave him alone. Yer always there for him. To be honest, yer acting more like his mother than his brother."

Sam suddenly turned to Bobby with an angry expression. "Don't you get it? This is my fault."

"Where the hell did ya get that stupid idea from?"

Sam gasped when he realised he had said too much, and went back to watching Dean.

"Sam, in the kitchen now," said Bobby, pointing at the room behind him.

"I can't. I need to stay here."

"Sam, get in the damn kitchen, before I grab yer hair and drag ya in myself," he said, but Sam stayed where he was. "Ya have until I count to three."

Sam clenched his jaw, and reluctantly let Dean's hand go. "I'll be back in a minute," he promised, laying the thin hand gently back on Dean's chest. He stood and turned to Bobby. "Happy now?"

"Oh yeah, I'm ecstatic. Move yer ass in that kitchen." Bobby waited until Sam was in the other room, then looked down at Dean. He looked back at the door to make sure Sam didn't see him, and reached over to stroke Dean's hair. "It's alright, Son. Get some rest."

Bobby stayed where he was for several seconds watching Dean sleep, before following Sam into the kitchen. "Now are ya going to tell me what that was about?"

Sam shrugged, and stared at the kitchen table.

"Sam, start talking," said Bobby, sitting in one of the chairs, so he sat opposite the younger of the Winchesters.

"Nothing to talk about."

"Sam, this isn't like ya to keep quiet when something is bothering ya. I mean, yer usually the kind of person when ya have a bad hair day, ya get out the guitar and write a song about it."

"I'm not that bad."

"Of course not," Bobby joked, but the smile fell as he became serious again. "I've noticed something different since ya found out Dean was sick. Yer acting different."

"What the hell do you want me to act like? My brothers depressed, he's anorexic. He..." Sam bit his lip, tears flowing down his cheeks.

"Talk to me, Sam."

"I can't. Dean needs me to be strong for him. I need to take care of him, it's my job."

"Talking won't stop ya from doing yer job," Bobby told him, before looking around the kitchen. "Dean ain't here right now."

Sam was silent for several minutes. "I didn't notice."

"What the holy hell are ya going on about?"

"I didn't notice he was sick, Bobby," Sam confessed, more tears slipping down his cheeks. "H-He was sick... he was barely eating for like five months... and I never noticed until he passed out."

Bobby's expression softened. "I didn't notice either. It's hard to notice when he wears about half his wardrobe. Not to mention, he's great at acting normal." He shrugged. "Normal for him anyway."

Sam laughed slightly, but felt guilty about it.

"That kid could put the best actors in the world to shame. He won't let ya see what he doesn't want ya to see. He acts normal, making smartass comments... make ya think he's his normal self, even when he ain't."

"But what about his face, Bobby?" asked Sam, blowing his nose on a paper towel.

"What about his face?"

"It's hard to notice how thin his body is when he wears loads of layers, but his face... His face looks so thin, you've always been able to see his cheekbones, but now they stick out too far. How did I miss that?"

"That's true, but to be honest I thought he might have lost a little weight. He didn't look that thin... I guess that'd be all the clothes he wears, so I thought it was my mind playing tricks or something, ya know?"

Sam nodded. "I still should have noticed."

"So should I, but ya can't keep blaming yerself. Actually, we can't keep blaming ourselves." Bobby made sure Sam was looking at him, and asked, "Do ya blame Dean for yer dad's death? Do ya blame Dean for being sick?"

Sam gasped, eyes going wide in horror. "No. How can you say that? Of course I don't."

"Well, Dean blames himself, but it doesn't make it his fault. We can't keep doing this, it ain't good for any of us... Dean blaming himself for yer dad dying, us two blaming ourselves for how sick Dean is." He reached over, and placed his hand over Sam's. "It's nobody's fault, Sam. It ain't yer fault, it ain't Dean's fault, and it ain't my fault, understand?"

"If I noticed sooner..." Sam started, but was interrupted.

"Sam, if ya don't stop this, I'm going to take that frozen chicken over there, and beat ya to death with it." Bobby leaned forward slightly, and spoke in a low voice. "The one thing we should be concentrating on is helping Dean. He needs us now more than ever, ya can't keep thinking like that, alright? We need to be there for him, no matter what. So ya better get those thoughts out of yer head right now."

Sam didn't say anything, but Bobby hoped he was getting through to him.

Bobby chuckled softly. "I don't know what I'm going to do with ya both. I feel like banging both yer heads together sometimes."

'Maybe Bobby's right.' He was about to say something when he saw a shirtless Dean walking into the kitchen.

"Do I have a spare shirt in here?" asked Dean, trying to cover himself up with his arms, eyes darting around the kitchen, not looking at his family. "I was... I was sick on my clothes... I need..."

Sam smiled, even though he felt like crying at the sight of his brother looking like that, and stood up. "Sure. I washed some of your clothes yesterday. I'll go get you something," he said, and started searching through the washing basket.

Bobby was staring at Dean in shock. This was the first time he had seen Dean without a shirt on since he got sick.

The older Winchester looked like a bag of bones, a skeletal form. His collarbones stuck out noticeably, looking like he had sticks buried under his skin. His ribcage showed prominently through his skin, the space between each rib hollow. The hipbones jutted out against his jeans, which were hung low, even though he had his belt fastened on the tightest hole.

"Holy crap, son. Ya look like a stick," said Bobby when he finally found his voice.

Dean lowered his head sadly, and turned around. "I'll be... in there," he said, slowly walking away.

As he walked away, Bobby felt like crying when he saw Dean's back. "Dammit, son," he whispered, looking at the sharp prominent edges of Dean's shoulder blades and the pebbled bones of his spine. Each of the vertebrae stood out like stones on a deserted road, and the shoulder blades looked like tiny angel wings.

Sam was glaring at Bobby. "Thanks a lot," he said through clenched teeth as he found a shirt, and rushed after Dean.

Tears filled Bobby's eyes, but he wiped them away. He didn't think his boy... his tough, strong boy could look so sick, skinny and fragile. They just weren't words associated with Dean Winchester. Bobby stood from the table, and followed his boys into the living room.

If they were going to help Dean, they had to talk.

Well, him and Sam had to talk, Dean had to listen.

Bobby walked into the living room to see Sam once again fussing over Dean.

"Sam, would you quit it? I can do it myself," said the older Winchester, shrugging away from Sam. "I'm not completely useless, you know."

"I never said you were, I'm only trying to help you," said Sam, sitting beside him on the couch.

"I don't need help dressing myself, I've been doing it since before you were born." Once he got the shirt on, Dean crossed his arms over his chest, looking so small and thin.

Sam looked over at Bobby, who walked over to sit on the other side of Dean. "We need to talk to ya, son."

"What about?" asked Dean, looking everywhere but Sam and Bobby.

"You know what about, Dean," answered Sam, reaching over to hold Dean's hand. He looked at Bobby, and the older man wrapped his arm around Dean's thin shoulders.

Dean frowned, but didn't move away from them. "What happened to your hand?" he asked Bobby, looking down at his knuckles.

"Oh nothing, just teaching somebody that ya don't mess with my boys."

"You shouldn't hit people because of me, I'm not worth it," said Dean in a small voice.

"Say that again, and I'm going to go in the kitchen, grab that frozen chicken and whack ya around the head with it."

"I'd listen to him, he threatened to beat me to death with it earlier," Sam told him, smiling. There was only one thing he hated about Dean, and that was how much he seemed to hate himself, and it had only gotten worse in the last few months.

"Well actually, I think the chicken would most likely knock him over or knock him out, it'll probably weigh more than Dean right now," said Bobby, remembering what Dean's body now looked like.

Sam's smile dropped as he became serious again. "What happened at the diner wasn't your fault. I shouldn't have made you go out when you didn't want to."

"If I have to be honest, ya didn't look that good before the food came."

"Yeah, you looked a little pale. Did you feel sick before we ate?"

"I... er..." Dean trailed off, trying to think about their short lunch at the diner. "I had a little headache, but I don't remember if I felt sick or not."

"See? We're not saying this stuff to make you feel better, it really isn't your fault."

"What if it was?"

"It doesn't matter." Sam squeezed Dean's hand gently. "You know we'll be right here with you every step of the way, don't you? Even when you take a step back, and get a little worse... you'll take more steps forward, and we'll be right here to take those steps with you and help you. Okay?"

Dean nodded, but avoided looking at the two men.

Sam shared a worried look with Bobby. "But if you ever feel like you have to be sick, you can always come to us, you know that too, right?"

"Why? Even when I do it, I don't really remember sometimes..." Dean trailed off, staring at his hands as if he suddenly found them interesting.

Sam was watching Dean in concern. He sighed when he realised why Dean wasn't looking at them. "Dean, do you think you're weak because you're like this?

Dean didn't answer, he just cleared his throat, and continued staring at his hands.

Sam gripped Dean's hand tighter. "Let me tell you something, Depression isn't a sign of weakness, it's an illness, and you can't control it. When you stopped eating, it probably made you feel like you had control for the first time in your life... but as time goes on, the eating disorder will start controlling you. You can't help being like this, Dean. You hear me? You can't help it."

Dean raised his eyebrows, and finally looked at Sam. "Did you swallow a medical dictionary when I wasn't looking, or what?"

"No, I'm telling you the truth. I... er... did a lot of research on my laptop when we found out what was wrong."

"Geekboy," teased Dean with a tiny smile.

Sam saw the small smile, and his heart warmed slightly. "Depression and eating disorders can happen to even the strongest people... and you're the strongest person I know."

"The strongest we both know," added Bobby.

A tear slipped down Dean's cheek but he wiped it away with a trembling hand. "How can I be strong when I'm like this?" he asked, gesturing to his thin frame.

Sam placed his other arm around Dean, so both men were holding him between them. "You are strong, Dean. It makes you a lot stronger that it took this long."

Dean's eyes swam with tears, but he didn't wipe them away this time. "Y-You still think I'm a hero?"

"Yeah." Sam grinned at him. "You're my hero, Dean. You always have been, you always will be. Even as skinny as a twig, you're still my hero and you're still strong. Even something like this can't change who you are."

"But..."

"You've been doing amazingly well. I mean, you still can't eat much, but you've put on half a pound in weight, which is great," Sam told him. "But you still need to put a lot more weight on, you weigh less than 110 pounds right now, which is seriously bad for someone your size. That's about 100 pounds less than me, and that makes me sound fat." He smiled, even though he felt like crying again. "I'm really glad we found out before it was too late."

"I think five months barely eating is long enough, but thank god it didn't take us idjits longer to realise something was wrong. It would break my heart if something happened to ya."

"I think it would actually kill me if I lost my big brother. You mean everything to this family."

"What if I can't do it?" he asked, looking up at Sam with huge watery green eyes.

"Do you still want to die?" asked Sam with a serious expression.

"Yeah... but no." He took a deep breath, and closed his eyes as he tried to explain. "I still feel like a big part of me does, but a tiny part also wants to get better and be back to normal." Dean opened his eyes again, and looked at each man with a confused expression. "Why do I feel like that?"

"It'll be the depression, son," Bobby told him. "Just keep taking yer pills, and remember Sam and I are right here for ya, it'll get easier."

"I don't want to sound like a big girl or anything, but you and Sam are the only reasons I have to live," Dean confessed. "If it wasn't for you two, I'd have given up completely by now."

Sam's eyes filled with tears. "You better not forget that, and never give up. If you ever need us, or you need to talk, we'll be right here for you... always."

"Even when ya need to talk in the middle of the night or something."

"But what about hunting? You must have a hunt lined up by now," Dean said to Bobby.

Bobby raised his eyebrows. "Yer a lot more important than any damn hunt, there's nothing and nobody more important than my boy. I don't care how long it takes for ya to get better, I'm not going anywhere... Not even a hunt. Someone else can kill the damn things. My family is a lot more important."

Dean looked down at his hands again, and gave a sad smile. "I wish I had you for a dad then."

"Listen to me, yer daddy was an idjit. I mean it in the nicest way, but he treated ya like his damn soldier, instead of a son. I'd be honoured if ya were my real kids. I don't care if I'm not yer real dad, yer my boys... and nothing will change that."

Dean covered his face, and suddenly started crying. "I-I'm sorry," he sobbed.

"What the hell are ya sorry for, ya moron?"

"F-For putting you both th-through t-t-this... I'm s-sorry."

Sam's tears trailed down his cheeks, but he ignored them as he pulled Dean into his arms, and held him tightly to his chest. "Don't you ever apologise, Dean. You can't help it. Shh, we've got you." He looked at Bobby, and nodded once.

The older man gently put his arms around Dean too, so they were both hugging the sick Winchester. "Come on son, let it out. We've both got ya," he whispered, stroking Dean's back. "Shh."

Sam laid his cheek against Dean's hair as he cried too, holding the thin skeletal body tightly but gently in his arms. Tears slid down his face, and into Dean's dark blond hair.

"It's alright," whispered Bobby, holding the two young men, and rocking slightly.

Sobs racked Dean's thin body as he cried, gripping Bobby's and Sam's shirts tightly in both hands.

For the next ten minutes, the only sound that was heard in the living room was Dean and Sam crying. Even Bobby shed a few tears, but he tried to hide it from them.

"O-Okay, you can let me go now," said Dean, pulling away. When Sam let him go, he used his sleeve to wipe the tears. "Sorry about that."

"Don't be stupid," Sam told him. "That's one of the things we're here for."

Bobby cleared his throat, and tried to compose himself too. "What happens in this house stays in this house, so yer macho image is still intact... Mine too."

Dean nodded, and took a deep breath to control his emotions as he started playing with his baggy shirt. It seemed as if he always wanted to cry recently, and he hated it.

"We're going to have to get you some new clothes," said Sam, pulling Dean's sleeve. "It looks like you're wearing a tent or something, you need clothes that fit."

"I don't really care about clothes."

"There's no rush. We'll take everything at your pace, alright? I won't keep nagging at you to go out, we'll go whenever you're ready." Sam watched Dean in concern, making a note to himself to keep a closer eye on him. "You don't have to keep pretending you're okay when it's obvious you're not. If you need anything, but you don't feel like going out, let Bobby or me know, and one of us will go out and get it for you. Alright?"

"Yeah. It'll save ya from going out when ya don't want to."

"I know the past few times we've gone out are because I've nearly forced you to," said Sam, feeling guilty. "But, I don't want you to develop agoraphobia too."

"If ya need air, come and join me out in the garage. Yer always welcome there, ya know that."

"T-Thanks," whispered Dean, wiping the tears which were still falling. "I swear, we're turning into a bunch of chicks. I hate being like this."

"You don't always have to pretend to be strong all the time... or pretend you're okay. If you need to, you can always come to us. If you want to talk or even cry... any time, you hear me?" Sam asked again, taking his handkerchief out, and handing it over to Dean.

Dean took it in his trembling hands, and wiped his face. "I'm sick of crying."

"We hate seeing you like this too. It's going to take a long time to get better, but we..."

"I know, you're here for me," Dean interrupted with a smile. "You don't have to keep telling me that, you know."

"Well, I don't want you to suddenly 'forget', and try to handle this by yourself like you usually do. You need family around you."

"You'll probably end up driving me crazy, but I'll have to get used to coming to you guys if I need you. I usually handle things myself."

"You're not anymore," Sam told him. "Do you want me to make you a sandwich since lunch didn't go so well?"

"Not yet, I'm not hungry."

"Okay, but I'll be making you something in about an hour, so you don't lose any of the weight you've managed to gain."

Dean really didn't want to, but he nodded anyway. His family were right, he had to continue eating, or he would be back to where he started.

"With the Winchesters and Bobby here to kick this things ass, there's no way it'll win," said Sam, squeezing Dean's shoulder gently.

"You sound like me. Well... the old me."

"If we work together, we can't lose, we can beat anything. This is the worst thing we've ever had to fight... but we will beat this, you hear me?"

Dean was biting his lip almost nervously, but he nodded again. He wouldn't admit it, but he was scared.

He was scared this was the one fight he couldn't win, but he would fight like hell anyway.

Dean had to remember he would always have his family by his side.

**TBC**


	15. Chapter 15

 

One day, Sam walked into the bathroom to get ready for the day. He placed his clothes on the closed toilet seat, and reached over for his toothbrush. That was when he saw the picture.

"What the-?" he whispered when he saw a photo of him and Dean stuck to the mirror. Frowning, he took it down and stared at the image of his big brother looking healthy and happy. It was a picture of them taken a year ago as they stood beside the Impala, with their arms around each others shoulders, both of them smiling at the camera.

It was definitely his favourite picture of him and Dean, but he didn't understand why it was on the mirror. 'I'll ask Dean about it when I get downstairs,' he thought to himself, placing the picture on the windowsill so he could get dressed.

While he brushed his teeth and shaved, he kept shooting glances to the image of Dean. It had been so long since he had seen Dean like that, it broke his heart when he thought of how his brother now looked.

Ten minutes later, Sam was washed, dressed and shaved, so he made his way downstairs with the picture clutched in his left hand. "Dean?" he asked when he got to the living room. When he didn't see Dean, he walked into the kitchen where Bobby was making breakfast and pouring them all coffee.

"Morning Sam," greeted the older man.

Sam looked around the kitchen, but he didn't see Dean anywhere. "Bobby, where's Dean? Is he alright?"

"He's outside, Sam. Ya don't have to panic."

"Why is he outside?" asked Sam, walking over to the window, eyes going wide when he saw Dean in just a t-shirt, sitting on the hood of the Impala, looking up at the sky. His feet were resting on the bumper, and his arms were wrapped around his thin bony frame. "What the hell is he doing? It's freezing."

"He said he needed a minute. I've been keeping an eye on him through the window to make sure he's alright."

"He could get sick," said Sam, rushing out of the room.

Bobby rolled his eyes, and turned the pancakes over so they didn't burn.

Sam came charging back in the kitchen. "Bobby, where's my hoodie? No, it doesn't matter," he said, running back out.

"Will ya calm down?"

"It's cold in the house... imagine what it's like outside, and he doesn't even have a jacket on," said Sam, walking back in with Dean's leather jacket. "I'll be back in a minute."

The older man shook his head as he watched Sam open the door and run outside to Dean.

Dean was so busy with his thoughts that he didn't notice Sam had come out until he sat beside him, and wrapped his jacket around him. "Hey," he said quietly, turning slightly in Sam's direction. "What's wrong?"

"I'm making sure you're not cold," answered Sam, adjusting the leather. "There we go."

Dean rolled his eyes with a fond expression. "So I guess mother hen Sammy's back."

Sam nudged Dean gently in the side, and shifted closer to him. "What are you doing out here?"

"Just thinking," was Dean's quiet response, his thin fingers holding the jacket closed against the cold.

"About what?"

"Just things," he answered with a shrug. "Nothing important."

Sam nodded, and brought out the photo. "I found this. Want to tell me why it was taped to the bathroom mirror?"

Dean looked down, and took the picture in slightly trembling fingers. "It's..." he sighed, running his thumb over his former self. "I guess it's my goal."

"Goal?" asked a confused Sam. "What do you mean, goal?"

"I put it there to remind me of what I used to look like, you know? In-case I ever have a bad day, and stop eating again, I can look at that picture and it'll remind me of who I used to be... of who I want to be again..." He stopped for a second, and stared at Sam in the picture. "It'll also remind me of who I'm doing this for... and that you're there for me." Dean frowned, and looked at Sam. "Does that make sense?"

Sam smiled, and put his arm around him. "Yeah, it makes perfect sense."

"So, if I ever go back... if I ever rush to the bathroom to be sick, I'm going to take a look at this picture," said Dean, gripping the photo tightly in both hands. "And it'll give me the strength to do this... Even when you're not actually with me, I'll still know you're there for me, and it'll help me continue eating... to get better. Because if it wasn't for you, I couldn't do this."

Sam's eyes swam with tears, but he wiped them away, and wrapped his other arm around Dean. "I think that's a great idea, Dean. I'm really proud of you for fighting this," he whispered, glad that their conversation the other day had got through to his big brother.

Dean pulled away. "I've never backed down from a fight, and I'm not going to start now."

Before Sam could reply, Bobby came to the door and called them in. "Breakfast boys, come and get it."

"We'll be right there," Sam called back, before turning back to Dean. "Are you ready to go back inside?"

"Yeah," answered Dean as a violent shiver ran through his body. "Freezing."

"Well, that's what you get when you sit out in the cold in a thin t-shirt," teased Sam, helping Dean put his arms into his sleeves.

"Shut up bitch," said Dean as they walked back to the house.

"Jerk."

* * *

Later, Dean was wetting his face with water in the bathroom. Taking a deep breath, he looked up at his reflection, his eyes shifting to the photo of him and Sam, which was back in its place.

"Don't worry handsome, I'll be back soon," he whispered to the image. His eyes darted back and forth between his reflection and the picture, hating what he now saw in the mirror. Trembling fingers traced the dark smudges that stained the skin below his big green eyes, and fluttered down his prominent cheekbones, over the freckles that glinted against pale skin like gold dust over his nose and hollow cheeks, before finally tracing his fingers down his long neck, and along the sharp collarbones.

His hand lowered, and joined the other, both hands clenched either side of the sink as he looked down at the toilet. Shaking his head, Dean looked back at the picture, but this time on the image of Sam. "For Sammy, I can do this."

A knock at the bathroom door made him jump. "Dean? Have you finished yet? I need to get a shower."

"I'll be out in a sec," answered Dean, not looking away from the picture.

"Okay. Do you need anything?"

"No," answered Dean, looking back at his thin-faced reflection. "You're not going to beat me." He dried his face with a towel, and walked over to the door. Taking one last glance behind him, he opened the door, and came face to face with Sam.

"Are you alright?" asked Sam, face immediately creasing with concern.

"I'm fine, Sammy," Dean reassured him, forcing a smile onto his face.

Sam smiled back, and nodded. "Good. Go downstairs, I'll join you when I've finished."

"Cool," replied Dean, before going downstairs.

Dean walked into the kitchen to see Bobby wearing an apron, cooking. He stopped and stared at the older man. "Er... Bobby? What the hell are you doing?"

Bobby stopped mixing what was in the bowl, and turned to him. "Hey son, how are ya doing?"

"I'm fi..." started Dean, but he stopped when he saw Bobby raise his eyebrows. "Okay, I'm not, but I'll get there."

"Good. I thought I'd make a pie. Do ya want to help?"

Dean cautiously walked closer, and peered into the bowl. "But you can't cook."

"Don't start with me," warned Bobby, picking up the rolling pin in a threat. "I'm armed."

Dean's eyes roamed the counter, which was littered with ingredients. "Seriously... why are you making pie?"

Bobby shrugged. "I've noticed some of the things ya used to love, ya don't like so much anymore... so I thought why not make something myself."

"So you're making a pie... for me?" asked Dean, slightly taken aback. "In all the time I've known you, I have never seen you cook. Well, I've seen you cook barbecue, but that's about it."

"I thought I'd give it a go for my boy."

Dean's lips twitched. "Thanks Bobby."

"Yer welcome, son," said Bobby with a wink. "Want to cut the apples for me while I finish this."

"Er..." said Dean, playing with his sleeves nervously, looking over at the apples. He knew that if he wanted to get better, then he would have to get used to being near food again. He took a single step in that direction, but stopped and shook his head when his breathing increased and his heart started racing. Everything in him wanted to turn and run away, but the small part of him that wanted to get better spoke louder, so he tried to will himself to do this. 

Bobby turned back to the counter to mix the ingredients, knowing if he was watching Dean he wouldn't do it. "I can do it myself, if ya don't want to help." He smiled to himself when he heard Dean slowly shuffle up beside him, and pick up the knife.

Even though his heart was thundering, his pulse was racing and sweat started pouring from his body, Dean picked up one of the apples in a trembling hand, and shakily cut it in half.

"Yer doing good son."

Dean smiled slightly, and continued cutting the apple.

While Bobby mixed the ingredients in the bowl, he kept shooting glances at Dean to make sure he was doing alright. He saw that Dean was trembling slightly, and was taking deep breaths to keep himself calm even though it looked as though he was trying not to freak out.

Bobby was so busy watching Dean, he accidentally dropped an egg on the floor when he tried to crack it open. "Crap," he said, kneeling down with a towel in his hand. "Clean up on aisle four."

Dean looked down at the floor, and laughed as Bobby started clearing up the mess.

"Think that's funny, do ya?" asked Bobby, standing up, and wiping yolk on Dean's nose, ignoring the flinch and the gasp which escaped him. He frowned worriedly when Dean shuddered violently with a force that threatened to snap his skinny frame like a stick in the hands of a clumsy child.

Dean quickly wiped his nose with his sleeve, and turned back to the counter. He took a deep breath and held it for a few seconds, before reaching over with a trembling hand to grab a handful of flour, which he threw over Bobby.

"Hey," laughed the older man, shaking himself to get rid of the flour.

Dean smiled shakily, and turned back to the apple. He closed his eyes and started humming Metallica under his breath, and ignored the rapid beat of his heart as it slammed against his ribcage, which felt like it was trying to break free.

"Hopefully, this one goes better," said Bobby, cracking another egg, and adding it to the ingredients already in the bowl. When he saw the trembling in Dean's hands worsen and his breathing growing erratic again, Bobby stepped closer to him in a silent show of support.

The two were so busy with what they were doing, none of them saw Sam standing at the kitchen door, watching his brother making a pie with Bobby.

"Way to go Dean," he whispered, smiling proudly.

* * *

When the pie was ready, Bobby took it out of the oven, and carried it over to the table where the Winchesters were sitting. "What do ya think?" he asked, gesturing to the golden looking pie.

"Looks good," said Sam, leaning over to look.

"Of course it does," Bobby joked, before pointing a finger at him. "Start reheating the custard."

Sam nodded, and jumped up to do his job. "Custard coming right up," he announced, starting the cooker, and placing the pan over the small flame.

Dean was watching the pair with raised eyebrows. "What's wrong with you both? You're both acting weird."

"We're both in a good mood. Is that a crime?"

"When you're this happy over pie, yeah," said Dean, but then frowned. "Did I just say that?"

"Well, yer lips were moving and words were coming out, so yeah I guess ya did," said Bobby, picking up a sharp knife.

"Huh. That's weird. Pie was one of the few things I was ever happy about."

"Hopefully this will make ya happy again," said Bobby, cutting a tiny piece, which he placed in Dean's bowl. "There we go."

"Thanks."

"Not yet," said Sam, coming over with the now hot custard.

Dean picked up a fork, and watched Sam pour a small amount of custard over the pie.

When the other two men had their pieces, they both took a seat at the table with Dean.

"Phone at the ready in-case we poison ourselves," Bobby joked, making Sam laugh.

Dean stared at the food on the fork for a few seconds, before he took his first tiny bite, chewing slowly. "It's... it's nice," he said, putting his spoon back in the bowl for more.

Sam and Bobby watched him, their faces lighting up into identical smiles. They had finally found something that Dean would willingly eat.

"Do you think you'll eat more if it's homemade?" asked Sam around a mouthful of food.

Dean shrugged, wiping his chin when custard dripped down from his mouth.

"I'll tell you what, whatever you feel like eating, me and Bobby will try to make it for you."

"But neither of you can cook to save your lives."

"Yeah we know, but if it will help you eat more, we'll teach ourselves. We'll try not to poison you or anything."

"Or set the house on fire," added Bobby.

Dean smiled slightly, and ate another small mouthful. After he ate that, he put the fork down, leaving just a little amount. "I... er... I'm done."

Sam leaned over, and saw Dean had eaten most of the small piece, which was a big improvement on two or three mouthfuls. "Wow. That's the most you've eaten in months."

"Well done, son," Bobby congratulated him, ruffling his hair.

Dean cleared his throat, a slight blush covering his cheeks. He still wasn't used to all this attention.

Sam emptied his bowl, and walked over to kneel beside Dean's chair. "You're amazing Dean, you did great," he said, giving him a hug.

"Thanks Sammy," whispered Dean, resting his head against Sam's shoulder for a second, before pulling away. "I swear we've all turned into a bunch of chicks."

Sam laughed, and stood back up to go get Dean's pill. "Hey, how about we watch a movie?" he asked, handing it over to him. "Dean can choose again if he wants."

Dean took the anti-depressant with a mouthful of water, and nodded. "Can we watch the Shining?"

"What again?" asked Bobby, finishing his own pie, and placing the bowl in the sink.

"Hell yeah, Jack rocks," said Dean, walking over to the living room.

Sam swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat as he watched his brother.

Bobby noticed the look on Sam's face, and put his hand on his arm. "It's going to take a long time, but we'll get him better."

"I know. I wish we could wave a magic wand, and he'll get better straight away. It's so hard seeing him like this."

"Me too. But if we take it one day at a time, and make sure he's eating... then any amount of time will be worth it if he gets better."

"Even when he gets back the weight he lost, we're still going to have to keep a close eye on him, so he doesn't get worse again. People who have an eating disorder can suffer with it for the rest of their lives."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Me neither. He's stuck with us forever," said Sam, smiling when he heard Dean shouting for them to hurry up.

"We're coming, keep yer frigging hair on," called Bobby, before nodding at Sam. "Come on, we better not keep him waiting."

They made it into the living room just as the Shining was starting. Dean was already sitting on the couch with the blanket around him, staring at the screen.

Sam sat beside Dean, pulling him close to his side. Bobby surprised them both by sitting on Dean's other side instead of in his chair.

"Hey, quit hogging the covers, I'm cold too," said Sam, sharing the blanket between the three of them. Him and Bobby shifted closer to Dean to share their body heat, knowing that with how thin Dean now was, he had trouble getting warm.

Dean looked around him at his family with a smile. If his family stuck by his side, and he beat this, he knew he could beat anything.

**TBC**

**Hope you like**


	16. Chapter 16

Dean walked into the kitchen to see Sam sitting at the table with his laptop, and writing in a thick notebook.

"Hey Sam, have you found a hunt?" asked Dean, going to the sink to get a glass of water. Taking a sip, he leaned against the counter, and watched his brother. "You know it's a bad idea to go hunting on your own, since you usually get kidnapped by the fugly, how are you supposed to save yourself and kill it at the same time?"

Sam finally looked up. "No. It's not a hunt... and I don't get kidnapped that often."

"Yeah whatever. You get kidnapped every five minutes, you should come with your own ransom note."

Sam rolled his eyes, but looked up at Dean with concern. "Come sit down, so you don't feel dizzy."

"I'm fine. I'm only standing here," said Dean, but Sam continued staring at him, until he joined him at the table. After placing his glass of water on the table, Dean turned to Sam. "What are you doing then, if you're not looking for a hunt?"

Sam put his pen down, and turned his laptop around. "Research."

Dean raised his eyebrows, and looked at the website, which was about eating disorders in men.

"Since finding out about you, I've been doing a lot of research, and writing down the info in this," Sam told him, gesturing to the thick notebook. "I've already filled half of it over the past few weeks."

"You're such a geek," teased Dean, making Sam smile.

"I just... I didn't want you to go to a clinic, and go through this on your own. I knew if you were on your own, you'd give up. And I want to take care of you myself... well, me and Bobby." He turned to the back of the book. "This is about your weight and what you're eating. It isn't much now, but with time it'll get better... both your weight and the amount you eat."

Dean nodded, biting his lip as his eyes caught on his current weight. "A hundred and seven. That's... small."

"You've only just realised you're underweight? Dean, you're like a hundred pounds less than me."

Dean shook his head, and turned to the web page Sam was currently looking at, where a young man Dean's age was shirtless in-front of a mirror, his ribs and collarbones clearly showing. "Sam, why are you looking at stuff like that?"

"To help my brother," was Sam's answer, reaching over to place his hand over Dean's.

"But I don't... I'm not ano... I'm not like them," said Dean, still refusing to say the 'A' word.

Sam sighed, and gently squeezed the thin hand. "You are, Dean. I know you don't like to admit it, but you're like these people."

"But I wanted to die, Sam... not lose weight."

"It doesn't matter why you stopped eating," Sam told him in a gentle voice. "But you did, and even the small amounts you did eat, you made yourself sick... that's an eating disorder, okay?"

Dean clenched his jaw, and glared at the picture. "Can we not call it that? Just call it... an eating problem."

"Dean..."

"I know I have depression, and eating problems... but I..." Dean clenched his hand under Sam's, making a fist. "Don't call me an... ano..." Taking a deep breath, he finally said the word. "Anorexic."

"Okay Dean. We won't say the 'A' word."

"Thanks Sam."

"You're welcome," said Sam, giving his hand one more squeeze, before turning the laptop back around, and scrolling through the page.

Dean sat and watched Sam scan through the article, his eyebrows knitted together as he read. Turning back to the front of the book, Sam began writing again. Dean smirked slightly, watching the geekboy in full research mode.

"Hey, do you know what day it is in a few days?"

"Er... Wednesday? Friday?" said Dean, confused at the random change in topic.

The pen stopped as Sam looked over at Dean for a second. "It's your 28th birthday."

"And? We don't do birthdays."

"Not normally, but this year is different." Trying not to smile as he thought about what him and Bobby had planned, he changed the subject. "I'm going shopping later, I'll get you some clothes, okay? You could do with some that fit, instead of looking like you're wearing a tent."

* * *

When Sam came back from shopping, he placed the food bags on the kitchen table, and took his jacket off. "Hey Bobby," he greeted the older man, who was making homemade lasagne, since Dean seemed to eat a little more if either Sam or Bobby made it themselves. "Where's Dean? I've got him some clothes, and something we can do together."

Bobby turned to him, and pointed at the living room. "He's laid on the couch, watching some DVDs."

"Why? Is he alright?" asked Sam, immediately concerned.

"He got a little dizzy for a second, so I ordered him to rest."

"Did he have something to eat? Did you make him something?" asked Sam, grabbing two of the bags, and rushing to the living room.

"I made him some scrambled egg. He only ate a few mouthfuls, but he said he felt a little better after it."

Sam nodded, but he was only half listening, he was too worried about Dean. Charging into the room, he saw Dean on the couch, covered in the blanket, watching Saw. "Thank god," he whispered, rushing over to kneel in-front of the couch. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah. I stood too fast, and got a little light-headed," answered Dean, slowly sitting up. "Of course, Bobby started fussing, and sent me to lay down, and pretty much forced me to eat scrambled eggs. What's in the bag?"

Sam sat on the couch beside him. "As I said, I got you some clothes. They were the smallest size they had in mens, so hopefully they'll fit you. And I got an Impala model kit, which I thought we could build together," he told him, getting the box out, and holding it up to show Dean.

"It's awesome," whispered Dean, taking the box, and looking at the picture on the side. "It looks like my baby. Cool, it's a '67."

"I know. They had loads of different kinds, but I thought you'd prefer the Impala. So, do you want to do it together?"

"Could you rephrase that?" asked Dean with a tiny hint of a smile.

Sam laughed. "Shut up, jerk."

"Bitch." Dean stood up with the model kit, and started walking towards the kitchen.

"Where are you going?"

"Kitchen, we've got a car to build. Are you coming or what?" asked Dean, already opening the box.

Sam paused the DVD, before getting up to join him.

"Hey Dean, are ya feeling any better? What's that?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. It's a model kit of a '67 Impala," answered Dean with a grin as he got the model parts out, and placed them on the table. "Isn't it awesome?"

Bobby chuckled, and shook his head when Sam came in with another little box with model glue, paint, and other items, in-case they were needed.

"Okay, I'm head mechanic," announced Dean, reaching over for the five little engine parts. "Cool. You can even build the engine."

Sam grinned over at Bobby, who smiled back. It had been awhile since they had seen Dean this interested in something. He pulled out a piece of paper from the box. "Don't you want to read the instructions?"

"Sam, I practically rebuilt a full-size Impala after... after it happened. I think I can build a Mini-'Pala."

"Mini-'Pala?"

"Well, she has to have a name, what do you expect me to call her?" asked Dean, already finished building the little engine. "Are you going to help me, or what?"

"Er... sure," said Sam uncertainly, reaching over for the wheels.

While Bobby waited for the lasagne to cook, he watched his boys build the model together. He started chuckling when it was clear that Sam didn't have a clue what he was doing.

"I think I need to read the instructions," said Sam, unfolding the paper, and placing it on the table.

"Yeah, I think that might be a good idea, before you glue the wheels to the roof, or something."

"Shut up," laughed Sam. "I'm not good with cars."

"No kidding." Keeping an eye on Sam to make sure he wasn't doing anything he shouldn't, Dean took the Chevy's body and the wheels, which were in-front of Sam. After arranging the wheels, he grabbed the bottom, and clicked it in place under the cars body. "That's the bottom part built."

"SEATS!" Sam suddenly yelled, making Dean jump, and almost fall off his chair. "Sorry." He took the two bench seats, and looked down at the instructions on where to place them.

"Try and put them the right way."

"Yeah, thanks." Sam bit his lip, holding the parts as he looked down at the instructions again, making sure he got it right.

Dean and Bobby took one look at him, and laughed at the serious expression on his face as he leaned forward and got to work.

* * *

The next hour was spent building the model, the kitchen filled with laughter from the little family.

"Now, that's a sexy car," said Dean with a whistle, admiring the built model in the middle of the table, which was bigger than Sam thought it would be. It even had a tiny number plate, which Sam very carefully painted 'D34N 1' in tiny letters in black paint.

"It looks pretty good," said Sam, holding his hand out, which Dean high-fived.

"She almost looks like the real thing," whispered Dean, getting out a cloth, and gently wiping over the roof.

"Dean, you don't need to clean the car, it's only a model, it's not real."

Dean ignored him, and continued running the cloth over the black Mini-'Pala, until it seemed to shine. Afterwards, he opened the hood and looked inside at the engine, then the trunk to make sure they opened properly. "Hey Sam? Do you think we can buy tiny weapons, and put them in here?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "What do you want to do next, buy a mini Sam and Dean?"

"Yeah, why not?"

"Right, are ya ready to eat now?" asked Bobby, getting the two plates, and placing one in the microwave to warm up.

"Yeah, thanks Bobby," answered Sam, getting up to clear the table, leaving the Chevy in the middle, so Dean could stare at it.

After heating up the two plates of food, Bobby placed them on the table. "Eat up."

Dean took the fork, and looked down at the little square of lasagne. He made sure the other two weren't watching him, before taking a little bite. "Mmm. Nice," he muttered, chewing slowly.

"Well, I am the master chef," Bobby joked, trying not to watch the young man eat, knowing he wouldn't eat if they were looking at him.

"It's definitely better than Sam's attempt yesterday," said Dean, pointing his fork at Sam. "Not even Garfield would've eaten it. I took one mouthful, and couldn't eat any more, it tasted like cardboard covered in sick."

"Eat that often, do ya?"

Dean bit his lip, and closed his eyes as he thought about something else other than sick. To take his mind off it before he ended up throwing up, he began humming 'Ramble on' to himself.

"Want me to make something else?" offered Bobby, looking worried.

"No. Just give me a sec." Taking a deep breath, Dean opened his eyes, and cut off another piece, bringing it up slowly to his face. Placing the food in his mouth, he started to eat again.

Sam managed to finish his lasagne and fries before Dean even got halfway through his tiny portion. "You're doing great, Dean."

Dean gave a tiny smile, and ate another small piece, before covering his mouth with a slightly trembling hand. "Okay, I've eaten all I can."

"Are you alright?" asked Sam, getting up, and kneeling beside him as Bobby quickly took the plate away.

After several seconds, Dean removed his hand, and nodded.

"You ate more than half, Dean, that's..." Sam grinned. "That's amazing."

"It's not enough, is it?" said Dean, feeling disappointed in himself. "I can't even finish the smallest thing. Babies could eat more than me right now."

"It's more than before. You're eating a little more each day. Your body is probably not used to eating again, but give it time and it will get used to it. I swear, you're making me more proud of you every single day."

Dean looked over at Bobby, who nodded. "Me too son."

"Hey, do you want to take your new car upstairs?"

Dean raised one eyebrow, and smirked at him.

Sam paused a minute, and silently ran through what he just said. "Okay, that sounded weird. We'll find somewhere to keep her in our room."

"Okay." Standing from the table, Dean carefully picked up the car in his arms, and followed his brother out of the kitchen, and up to their room.

"Come on." Sam wrapped his arm around Dean's shoulders, helping him upstairs. He smiled as he thought about their plans for Dean's birthday.

Usually they didn't celebrate Christmas or birthdays, but this year Sam and Bobby were going to make sure Dean had the best birthday ever.

If anyone deserved it, it was Dean.

**TBC**


	17. Chapter 17

 

The morning of his birthday, Dean walked down the stairs, and froze when he stepped into the living room and saw the blue balloons and banner which said ' **HAPPY BIRTHDAY!** ' But there was no sign of his family.

"Sammy? Bobby?" Dean walked into the kitchen to see both men standing there grinning like lunatics, both wearing party hats. "What the-" His mouth dropped open in shock. "Er... Christo?" he asked uncertainly, making them both laugh.

"We're not possessed, you jerk," Sam laughed fondly.

"Oh. Are you two feeling okay?"

"Of course we are, why wouldn't we be?"

"Just wondering if you had both gone insane, or if you've been drinking."

Sam pulled out one of the chairs at the kitchen table, and sat Dean down. Bobby picked something up, and placed it on the table.

"What is..." Dean gasped when he saw it was a small cake in the form of a car, one single candle stood in the middle.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU..."

Dean sat there with wide shocked eyes while his family sang to him. It had been a long time since he had celebrated a birthday, he was a little overwhelmed.

"...HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO DE-EAN! HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU!" Sam turned back to him. "Okay, now make a wish, and blow out the candle."

Dean shook himself out of his shock, and leaned forward to blow out the candle. "You guys didn't have to do this," he said quietly as Bobby picked up a knife and cut a small piece for him.

"Of course we did, it's my big brother's birthday." Sam smiled, and watched him stare at the tiny piece of cake on the plate in-front of him. "Are you going to have a taste or have a staring contest?"

"We didn't make it for ya to stare at," said Bobby, cutting himself and Sam a slice.

"You two made a cake? You two?"

"Yeah. We thought it'd be nice for ya to have a homemade cake, instead of a bought one." Bobby looked over at Dean with a worried expression. The young man was staring at the tiny sliver of cake, biting his bottom lip nervously.

"You don't have to eat the whole piece, but have a mouthful," suggested Sam, as he ate his own bigger piece. "But if you don't have any at all, you'll make us cry. We spent hours making this."

Dean sighed, and picked up a fork. "Fine. You freaks," he said, cutting off a piece the size of a pea. Putting the piece in his mouth, he chewed slowly. "Mmm. Not bad. It's not going to kill me or anything, is it?"

"Hey," said Sam, gently hitting Dean in the arm as he took another bite. "We're not that bad at cooking... We followed the recipe. OOH OOH!" He suddenly started clapping excitedly. "PRESENTS!"

Dean swallowed what was in his mouth, and put down the fork, watching him run out of the kitchen with raised eyebrows. "Are you sure he's not possessed?"

Bobby chuckled, and took Dean's arm gently to help him stand. "No. It's present time," he told him, putting one arm around the skeletal frame.

"I got presents too?" asked Dean, walking beside Bobby into the living room.

"Of course ya do. Sit down, I'll go see if Sam needs any help," he said, before following Sam upstairs.

Left on his own, Dean looked around the decorated living room, his green eyes huge in his thin face. Even though Sam had mentioned celebrating his birthday a few days ago, he thought they would just have a beer or two, not an actual celebration.

He jerked in surprise when an envelope was suddenly waved in-front of him, nearly poking him in the eye. "Thanks," he said quietly, taking the card while the two placed the presents on the table.

Sam and Bobby sat on the couch, leaving Dean in the middle to watch him open the card. Seeing the emotion on his face made Sam place his hand over the bony one.

Tears filled Dean's eyes as he read the card, which Sam had written.  _ **'To the best big brother ever, we hope you have a special birthday, if anyone deserves it, it's you. Every day for us is a special day, because we have you in our family**.  **I know 'chick-flick moment', and you may call me a big girl but I don't care.** **Mine & Bobby's one wish is for you to get better and be back to the cocky smartass we both know and love, you know we'll be with you every step of the way** **.**_ ** _Our family wouldn't be complete if it didn't have you in it. Even though Dad never said it, I know he loved you too, and I bet he'd be very proud of you because we are. Love Sammy and Bobby. x'_**

"Er... This is... Thanks guys."

"You're more than welcome. Are you ready to open your presents?" Sam asked him, sounding like an excited child.

Dean laughed. "Yeah, sure."

"Okay, this is from me," said Sam, handing over the first one.

Taking off the paper, Dean smiled when he saw the MP3 player inside. He opened it up, and took the device out, holding it in his palm. "Cool."

"I downloaded every single song from the bands you like on my laptop and put them onto that. There's AC/DC, Black Sabbath, Blue oyster cult, Led Zeppelin, Metallica, Motorhead, Ozzy Osbourne, Queen... There's more, but I can't remember them all. There's over a thousand songs all together."

"A thousand?" asked Dean in surprise, looking down at the small device in his hand. "It's tiny."

"I know. Welcome to the 21st century. I thought you'd prefer that to the cassette tapes in the car. At least with this, you can listen to music whenever you want, and shuffle them and listen to an AC/DC song followed by Zeppelin without changing the tapes over. If there are any other songs you want, let me know and I'll download them for you."

"Awesome," said Dean, fiddling with the buttons.

Bobby reached over, and took the present, replacing it with another one. "This is from me."

Dean placed it on his knee, and ripped off the paper. He gasped when he saw the beautiful silver knife. "Oh wow," he whispered, picking it up to admire it. The blade was engraved with a devils trap on each side, the serrated curve arched gracefully from a beautifully crafted bronze handle.

"I love it," said Dean, smiling when he saw 'D. Winchester' engraved on the handle. Turning the knife over, his breath caught when he saw 'D. Singer' on the other side. He looked up at Bobby with tears swimming in his eyes.

"Just because I'm not yer real daddy, doesn't mean yer not my son."

"I-I..." Dean shook his head. "It's..."

"Wow. Dean Winchester's speechless. Quick alert the media," joked Bobby, making his boys laugh.

"It's beautiful, Bobby. Thanks a lot."

"Yer welcome son," said Bobby, wrapping Dean in a quick hug.

It was Sam's turn again next. "Hope you like these, it took me ages to get them."

Dean frowned, and opened the present. Inside were two books, which made Dean blink and stare at them. "Books?" he asked, picking them up. His lips formed into another smile when he saw they were first editions of 'The shining' and 'One flew over the cuckoo's nest'. "Cool. Aren't these supposed to be expensive?"

"Yeah, but you're worth it. And hopefully now you can read them, we won't have to watch them all the time."

"Oh, I don't know about that. That's my man Jack you're talking about," said Dean, opening the shining and skimming through the first page.

"There's still more," Sam told him, taking the books.

Dean was still smiling while he opened the next few presents, which were a Nintendo DS lite and some games, and a pile of DVDs including AC/DC- Live at Donington and Family jewels, 2 disc Led Zeppelin, Metallica- Cunning stunts, and a couple of Clint Eastwood westerns.

"These are all awesome."

"We thought you'd need something to do, since you'll be spending a lot of time in the house while you recover. We didn't want you to be bored." Sam looked at the last present on the table. "But we've saved the best for last."

The last one, which was from both Bobby and Sam, was the biggest. "Oooh. What's in it?" asked the birthday boy in excitement. He ripped off the paper, then took off the lid.

"Oh my god," Dean breathed in awe when he saw the rifle. "Holy... I... Oh wow." He picked up the gun carefully as if it was glass. "It's a... I can't... Whoa." For the second time in five minutes, Dean was speechless.

Sam and Bobby watched him and laughed. "I guess you like it then?"

"Are you kidding? It's a frigging Winchester. I can't believe it. I've always wanted one of these." He turned the rifle over and admired it, running his fingers over the 1892 Winchester lovingly. "It's beautiful."

"We've got a wall mount, so you can put it on the wall over your bed, and a plaque. That way, you can keep it out of harms way, but you can still get it down whenever you want," Sam told him, nodding to Bobby.

Bobby handed the plaque over, and Dean had to laugh when he saw  **Dean's Winchester**  engraved on it. "Thanks guys. You two are the best."

"We know. We have more planned for you, but we're not really sure if you want to go since you don't like going out."

"It's not the going out that's the problem," Dean told them quietly. "I don't know why, but right now I'm not all that comfortable being around people."

Sam watched Dean, his eyes widening in understanding. He remembered at the crowded diner that Dean became nervous and tried to make himself invisible as soon as they sat down, and at the store he was okay as long as there was nobody around, and grew really nervous when there was. "Well, we organised it so there'd be no other people there, because we know you don't like crowds. It'll be just us three, so that means we can still go."

"Go where?" asked Dean, eyebrows drawing together in a frown.

"It's a secret. We're not going until this afternoon."

Bobby grabbed his phone, and stood up. "I have to make a couple of calls to make sure everything is still sorted. Be back in ten."

"Okay." Sam sat watching Dean stroking his Winchester in a way that was starting to freak him out a little. "Er... Why don't we take that upstairs and put it up over your bed, then watch a couple of your new DVDs for a bit?"

Dean looked up at Sam, and nodded with a grin. "Hell yeah. I still can't believe I've got a 1892 Winchester. It's the best gun ever."

"I'm glad you like it. You go first. I have to get a screwdriver and a couple of screws to put it up." Sam picked up Dean's books, DS and games too and took them with him to put into a bag.

"Alright Sammy, see you up there," said Dean, carrying his new rifle very carefully, almost as if it was a baby.

* * *

After a couple of hours spent watching Dean's new DVDs, Bobby nodded over at Sam, who nodded back.

"Okay, it's time to go," said Sam, standing up, and turning the TV off. He went over to the hallway and got his and Dean's jackets, and his hoodie.

Dean nodded, and stood up too. "Where are we going?" he asked, stretching.

Bobby winced when Dean's spine cracked loudly. "We won't be going anywhere if ya snap yerself in two. Yer like a stick as it is."

Dean rolled his eyes, and took the items from Sam. He put the hoodie on first, and smiled as he zipped it up, savouring the hoodie's comfort and fleecy warmth for a few seconds, before putting his own jacket on.

After covering himself up, Dean picked up his new mp3 player, and put the earphones into his ears and turned it up loud. After picking a song, he was nodding along to the music.

"Come on then," said a happy Sam, throwing his arm around his thin brother, and walking him outside. It might have looked to anyone else like a normal brotherly act, but really Sam was trying to protect Dean from the cold weather.

Getting into the car, Sam asked Dean if he was warm enough because he easily felt the cold, since he was all skin and bone. Dean didn't answer, so Sam nudged him in the leg.

Dean looked up to see Sam's lips moving, but he couldn't hear what he said. "WHAT?"

"Dean, it might help if you turned the music down," he told him, pronouncing each word slowly so Dean could read his lips.

"I CAN'T!"

"What do you mean you can't? Don't you know how?" Sam reached over, but Dean held the tiny device out of his reach, and took out one of the buds.

"Of course I know how, I'm not an idiot," Dean snapped. "There's only one way to listen to Zeppelin, and that's full blast." He put it back in his ear, and continued nodding along.

Sam sighed, and started the car. "At least we're not the one's getting deafened," he said to Bobby, who was sitting in the back.

"WHAT?" Dean yelled again, making Bobby chuckle and Sam shake his head.

**TBC**


	18. Chapter 18

 

Awhile later, Sam came to a stop and looked out of the window. "Dean, we're-" He rolled his eyes when he turned and saw Dean rocking out to a song beside him. "DEAN!"

Dean nearly jumped through the roof, and put his hand on his chest. "What the hell? Are you trying to kill me?" he gasped, turning the music off. "What?"

"We're here, moron," Sam told him, getting out of the car.

"Okay, no need to give me a heart attack." Dean placed his MP3 player in his pocket, and climbed out to join the other two men. "Where are we?" he asked, looking around. His eyes went wide when he saw where they were. "You're kidding."

Sam smiled, and threw his arm around Dean, and led him inside.

"COOL!" Dean exclaimed when he saw the Go-karts, and turned to grin at Sam. "I've always wanted to go Go-kart riding. I asked dad a million times if we could go for my birthday... but I never did."

"Now you have. Since you're still a little too weak to drive your own car right now, in-case you have a dizzy spell and crash... and I know you've always wanted to do it, so here we are."

"We've booked the place for an hour, so ya can drive around with Sam."

"But you'll have to take a five minute break every ten minutes, so you don't feel dizzy or anything. Are you ready?"

"Hell yeah," said Dean, still grinning.

"Come on, we'll introduce you to the guy who runs this place," said Sam, leading him into the changing room where a guy in his early fifties was waiting for them. He had chubby cheeks, a pointy chin, a thin scar on his left cheek, and a head of greying hair. 

"Hi. Thanks for doing this."

"You're welcome," said the guy, holding his hand out to the older Winchester. "You must be Dean. It's nice to meet you. I'm Brendan."

Dean shook the offered hand. "Nice to meet you too."

Brendan's brown eyes travelled up and down Dean's thin body, and he winced. "Are you sure you'll be alright?"

Sam's eyes narrowed, and he stepped in-front of his brother protectively. "Stop looking at him like that, he's not some leper, you know. He's sick, he's not going to..."

"Whoa Rambo, down boy," said Dean, putting his hand on Sam's arm, trying to calm him down.

"I'm sorry. Let's get you guys kitted up then."

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, the two were ready, wearing blue and black driving suits over their clothes.

"Are you ready?" Brendan asked them.

"Yeah. This is going to be awesome," said Dean with a grin. The smile dropped when he looked to the side, and saw his shadow on the ground. The shape reminded him of a child's badly drawn stick-figure, tall and skinny as a twig. He closed his eyes, and shook his head.

Sam saw the look on his face, and frowned in concern. "Are you alright?"

Dean opened his eyes, and forced a smile to his face. "Of course I'm alright, I'm always alright."

Sam looked at what he was looking at, and felt like crying when he saw the skeletal shadow. He squeezed his shoulder gently, smiling in encouragement. "You can do this."

"I know." Dean took a deep breath, and put his helmet on. "Come on, loser. I'll kick your ass," he said, walking over to sit in one of the Go-karts.

Sam laughed, and put his helmet on too, before joining him. "You're on."

"Remember every ten minutes, take a break," Bobby told them, holding up a flag. "If ya don't, I'll drag ya out by the hair," he said, looking at Dean.

"Why does everybody keep threatening me with violence?"

"Are ya ready?" Bobby asked them. When they both nodded, he waved the flag.

The brothers laughed, and set off. Dean quickly took the lead by speeding off like a lunatic.

"DEAN SLOW DOWN!" yelled Bobby, feeling like a parent to a pair of five year olds.

Dean took one hand from the wheel and gave him a thumbs up, but continued driving like a mad man.

Sam watched Dean, and laughed. He was glad they decided to bring him here as part of his birthday treat, but he hoped that Dean liked his final surprise even more.

* * *

Ten minutes later, Bobby waved the flag to let them know it was time for a break.

Dean crossed the line first, and got out with a big grin. "Wooo. That was frigging awesome," he said, taking the helmet off.

Sam came to a stop beside him half a minute later with a similar grin. "This is more fun than I thought."

"Get over here," said Bobby, taking Dean's arm to lead him over to the chairs.

"I can walk over myself, you know," said Dean, but allowed the older man to help him. When he sat down, a drink was shoved in his face. "Do you mind? You nearly frigging blinded me."

"I'll pour it over yer head in a minute," said Bobby playfully.

Dean took the gloves off, before taking the drink.

"Are you warm enough?" Sam asked him, sitting in the chair next to him. "Do you want me to ask Brendan if he has a blanket or something?"

"Do ya feel dizzy?"

"Will you two chill out? I'm fine."

"I swear, if you start feeling sick or dizzy, you better tell us, or I'm going to hit you around the head."

"Yeah, that'll help with the dizziness." As he slowly sipped his drink, Dean kept looking down at the bony fingers on his left hand. Closing his eyes, and clenching his jaw, he curled his hand into a fist.

Sam put his hand over Dean's gently. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," he said, removing his hand from under Sam's. "You don't have to keep asking me that."

"I know, but I'm really worried about you."

"You don't have to be. I really am okay," Dean told him with a smile. "Today has been the best birthday ever."

"Good."

"The five minutes is up," Bobby told them, looking at his watch.

"Awesome," said Dean, standing up with his helmet in his hands. "Ready for another ass kicking?"

Sam grinned, and threw his arm around Dean as they walked back to the karts. "Just bring it."

"Oh, I'll bring it, bitch," said Dean, pulling away from Sam to climb into his Go-kart, and put his helmet back on.

When they were ready again, Bobby waved the flag for them to start.

Dean laughed, and put his foot down, speeding off like a bat out of hell.

"You better be careful," Sam whispered to himself, watching Dean speed off, worriedly. His breath caught when it looked like Dean was going to crash, but he took the corner at the last second, like a professional.

The smile on Dean's face never dropped as he drove, this was something he had always wanted to do as a kid, and it was even cooler than he thought it would be. The Go-kart might not be his baby, but at least he was able to drive. He took one hand away from the wheel, and raised his fist in the air, yelling, "WOO! I ROCK!"

Bobby was watching his boys with a fond expression, and had to laugh when Dean raised his fist, and yelled that he rocked. When he looked over at Brendan, and saw he was watching Dean's kart with a frown, the smile dropped. "Got a problem with my boy?"

"Er... No," answered the other man, flinching away from the angry look on Bobby's face. "I er... was just worried he'd hurt himself."

"That's a load of bullcrap, the only thing yer worried about is if he crashes the Go-kart. Don't worry about it, if he crashes, I've got money to pay for it."

"I wasn't... I didn't mean..."

"Save it," he said, turning back to the race. He smiled to himself when he heard Dean laughing again, it had been a long time since he had heard the deep laughter, it was the best thing ever to hear it again.

Dean made it around the circuit once, and ended up neck and neck with Sam again. He raised one hand and waved at his little brother.

Sam waved back, and watched Dean make some hand signals, and point at him. Sam nodded, and the two sped off, trying to beat each other to the finish line.

This time, Dean won by three seconds, and the two climbed out of the karts, laughing. "That was close."

"It was cool," said Dean, taking a deep breath.

"Are you okay? Come on, sit down."

"I'm fine. I'm going to get that tattooed to my forehead, so I can point to it every time you ask me that."

"You can't blame us for being worried about you. I don't want you to overdo it, and end up passing out or anything."

"I won't pass out, I really do feel alright. I'll tell you if I start feeling weird."

"Are ya hungry, son?" Bobby asked the young man.

Dean shook his head with a grimace. "Not right now."

"We'll make you something later, okay?"

"Yeah, whatever. Is the five minutes over yet?"

Bobby looked at his watch. "No. Still have a couple of minutes left."

"I'm going to win this time," Sam told Dean.

"We'll see. The only way you'll beat me to the finish line, is if you don't move."

Sam mock-glared at him. "Want to make a bet?"

"Sure. A million billion dollars to the winner."

Sam raised his eyebrows. "A million billion?"

"Are you scared?"

"Yeah, I'm terrified," Sam told him with a fake shiver.

"So you should be, I'm an awesome driver. It's nice been back behind a wheel again."

"It's only been a few weeks, not years."

"I know, but I miss my baby. Is the five minutes over yet?"

Bobby rolled his eyes, and checked his watch again. "Another minute, but I suppose ya can go now."

"WHOOHOO!" cheered Dean, putting his helmet back on.

* * *

After the full hour was over, and the brothers were back in their normal clothes, the little family went back to the Impala.

"Are you ready for a long drive?" Sam asked Dean, starting the car.

Dean paused the music he had on, and frowned over at Sam. "What do you mean? Where are we going?"

"Can't tell you yet, but I bet you'll like it."

Dean turned around to look at Bobby, who was sitting in the back. "Where are we going?"

"Don't look at me, I'm not going to tell ya."

"Fine," said Dean with a scowl, making him look like a grumpy child. He put the earphones into his ears, and turned the music up loud, nodding along to the song that was playing.

Sam looked at Bobby in the rear-view mirror, and shared a smile with the older man.

"Off we go."

"WHAT?"

Sam laughed, and started driving out onto the road. "Nothing."

* * *

At five that evening, the Impala pulled up in-front of a huge cabin. "Dean, we're here."

Dean was asleep with his head resting against the seat, so Bobby tapped his shoulder. "Dean?"

The green eyes fluttered open, and looked up at the two men. "What?" he asked, rubbing his face.

"We're here."

Dean climbed out of the car, and his eyes went wide when he saw the huge cabin. "Whoa. What are we doing here?"

"This place belongs to a friend of mine, he offered it to us for the weekend for yer birthday, but Sam had an idea, so we had to come early."

"Yeah. We're staying for three days, there's a huge lake that has fish in over there," Sam told him, pointing at the huge lake.

"How can we stay for a couple of days? We've got no clothes," said a confused Dean.

"Don't worry, I packed some clothes for us," Sam told him, getting two duffels out of the trunk. "I brought your DVDs, books and games too."

"Cool." Dean tried to grab one of the bags, but Sam held them out of reach, and put his other arm around Dean.

Bobby opened the door for the two young men, and stepped aside to let them in. "Go on, have a look around."

Dean's breath caught when he stepped through the front door. "Wow. This place is awesome."

When the three of them walked into the main room, Dean raised his eyebrows when he saw all the mounted animal heads above the huge stone fireplace. "Whoa. It looks like the cast of Bambi has been massacred... I like it," he said, making Sam and Bobby laugh.

"Is your friend a hunter hunter, or a demon hunter?" asked an awed Sam.

"Both. I sometimes used to hunt with him, before a giant bear got him first, and ripped his leg off."

"Ouch. Is he... er... alive?"

"Of course he's alive, dumbass. How the hell do ya think I got the key, contacting his ghost through a Ouija board?"

"Sorry, that was a stupid question. Hey, where's Dean gone?"

Bobby blinked in surprise, and looked around to see Dean wasn't with them. "Dean?"

They searched the huge rooms, and eventually found him in the basement, which had been made into a game room.

"Wow. This is the coolest place ever," Dean whispered, looking around at the dartboard, the pool table, huge widescreen TV, the bar, and the video game section in the corner.

Bobby smiled when he saw the familiar room. "He left it the way we made it."

"You built this? Why don't you do this at yours? If you did that, Sam and I would never leave," said Dean, making them laugh again. "Can we have a game of pool?"

"Maybe tomorrow. After I've shown ya around the place, ya may be too tired to play," said Bobby, winking at Sam, who grinned back.

They went upstairs next, to look at the five bedrooms. "Pick any room ya want."

Dean nodded, and checked every bedroom, picking the last one which had a TV, and a huge adjoining bathroom with a jacuzzi and shower.

"This is the master bedroom," Bobby told them, before showing them the huge bathroom. "This is the only room with its own bathroom, the other one is down the hall."

"I'm choosing this one," said Dean, throwing himself on the bed.

"I'm in the one next door."

"I'll be in the one down the hall," Bobby told them, smiling down at Dean, who was almost asleep on the bed. "Are ya going to get cleaned up? And ya don't have enough time to go in the jacuzzi."

"Awwwww," Dean whined dramatically. "I guess I'll have a shower."

Sam immediately looked worried. "But what if you get dizzy and pass out?"

"You'll hear the thud when I hit the floor," said Dean, sighing when Sam's face dropped. "Fine. You can stay in here if you want, so you don't have a spaz attack or anything."

Sam nodded, and sat down on the bed, staring at his brother, making the other two men roll their eyes.

"I'll be downstairs. There should be plenty of hot water, my friend's son was around earlier, and made sure everything was ready," Bobby told them, before leaving them alone.

"Put on a clean pair of clothes, you'll be going out again when you've finished."

Dean frowned in confusion, but grabbed his things from one of the bags. "I'll be ten minutes."

"Okay, I'll be in here."

Dean looked as if he was going to say something, but he turned and walked into the huge bathroom. He chose a new song on his MP3 player, and put it on the highest volume, and left it on the side, so he could still hear the music, which was a Queen song. After starting the shower, Dean reluctantly took his layers of clothes off, and stepped under the spray.

As Sam waited, he chewed on a fingernail worriedly, ready to shoot up in-case Dean needed him.

While he showered, Dean kept his eyes closed so he didn't have to look at himself. He hadn't looked at his body since that time in Bobby's bathroom, and refused to look until his body was back to how it used to be. He clenched his jaw in disgust as he washed his body, and felt nothing but bone.

' _..._ _Goodbye everybody, I've got to go. Gotta leave you all behind and face the truth. Mama, ooh (anyway the wind blows)._ _I don't wanna die, I sometimes wish I'd never been born at all..._ '

He shook his head, not noticing when the first tears started falling down his cheeks, blending with the water falling from above and pouring down his thin body. His face crumpled, and his breathing hitched as his fingers ran over the protruding ribs.

Eventually, Dean couldn't hold himself together any longer. His legs gave out from under him, and he dropped to his knees and started sobbing uncontrollably, the tears poured from his eyes as freely as the water was pouring from the shower.

Almost two minutes later, he fell back against the tiles, and raised his knees to his chest, running his fingers through his wet hair, before resting his head on his knees. "I don't wanna die," he whispered tearfully, his body trembling as he sobbed. "I don't wanna die anymore."

After awhile the tears dried up, Dean leaned his head back against the wall and stared up at the water pouring down on him, humming along to the new song that was playing. He was no longer sobbing, but his face was blotchy and tear stained, his eyes were swollen and watery, his breathing hitched and hiccuped as he tried to get himself under control.

He didn't know how long he spent under the water, and jumped a mile when Sam suddenly banged on the door. "DEAN! ARE YOU ALRIGHT?"

Dean cleared his throat and wiped his face. "Yeah. I'll be out in a few minutes." He took a deep breath, feeling a lot better, and turned the water off, before grabbing a towel to wrap around his waist, and stepping out of the shower.

Clearing the condensation from the mirror, Dean stared at the pale, bony, freckled face reflected back at him. "I can do this, I'm Dean Winchester, dammit," he said, taking a deep breath.

The watery eyes narrowed, and his face set in determination, while his lips curled up into a familiar smirk. "You won't beat me. I've never backed down from a fight, I'm not going to start now," he whispered, before turning away from the mirror.

As he dressed, he couldn't help thinking it would be so much easier if this was a body he could salt and burn, or a demon he could exorcise. But this fight was against his own body, and he wasn't about to get his ass kicked by something he couldn't even see.

* * *

After Sam had forced Dean to lay down and rest on the bed for twenty minutes, the two finally walked downstairs and were greeted by a smiling Bobby. "Are ya ready for the big surprise?"

"As we said earlier, we were going to bring you here for the weekend. But when Bobby told me there was a huge field beyond all the trees at the back of this place, we organised one more special surprise."

"Seriously Sam, it's already been enough. This has been the best birthday ever."

"It's about to get even better."

Dean jumped when Bobby's hand suddenly covered his eyes. "Er... Guys?"

"Trust us," said Sam, taking his arm and gently leading him out of the back door.

With his eyes covered, Dean couldn't see the wires trailing from the cabin and into the field.

A couple of minutes later, the three men came to a stop. "Here we are," said Bobby, taking his hand away.

Opening his eyes, Dean gasped when he saw the stage and the four men, one holding a guitar, one with a keyboard, and another behind a set of drums. "Holy crap," he breathed in shock.

Seeing Sam nod, the band began playing happy birthday to the tune of 'Stairway to heaven'.  _"There's a birthday boy here, who is twenty eight years. And he is no longer twenty seven..."_

"We were originally going to get tickets to see one of your favourite bands, but since you don't do too well with crowds of people, we thought we'd organise a concert just for you. I know a tribute band isn't the real thing, but..."

"It's amazing, Sam," Dean whispered, still in shock. He could not believe Sam and Bobby had hired a Led Zeppelin tribute band to play just for him.

"They take requests, so are you going to suggest something?" he asked, leading him over to sit in the armchair that had been placed there. After making sure he was comfortable, Sam covered him up with the blanket.

Dean looked up at Sam, and back at the band. "Er... When the levee breaks?"

Immediately the beginning notes of 'When the levee breaks' filled the field.

Bobby and Sam sat down on the kitchen chairs on either side of Dean. When he was seated, Sam opened the picnic basket that was beside him, and took out a small triangle sandwich for Dean.

"Thanks," he said, taking the sandwich, but not taking his eyes away from the stage. The band was pretty good, and sounded almost like the real thing.

Sam looked over at Dean, and his heart warmed when he saw him singing along quietly.

* * *

After a couple of songs, the tribute band called Dean up onto the stage.

"Me?" asked a surprised Dean, pointing at himself.

Sam nudged his arm. "Get up there."

"Er... Okay," said Dean, getting up, and slowly walking over to the stage. When he was standing beside the others, he was handed a black Gibson SG guitar with a silver skull on it.

"Robert and Samuel told us that 'Ramble on' is one of your favourites, so we thought you might want to play along with us," said the singer.

"Wow. This is soooo cool," whispered Dean, his fingers stroking the beautiful guitar.

"It's yours. Your family told me you've always wanted to perform in a rock band. We may not be the real Zeppelin, because they were bloody epic, but at least we're better than a boyband... They're all a bunch of wankers."

Dean laughed, and looked over at Sam and Bobby nervously. "I've never really played one of these. I've always wanted to learn, but..."

"I'll teach you the chords to play," said the guitarist, walking over to Dean with his own guitar.

Sam was watching the men with his brother, it was nice to see they were treating him like a normal person, and not like he was going to drop dead any minute like the guy from earlier.

Ten minutes later, Dean nodded, and stepped forward. "Er... I think I've got it."

"Okay. Do you need a chair, or will you be alright standing?"

"I'll stand. I've been resting or sitting down nearly all day. I'll be fine," Dean told him, easing his concern.

"Alright then. You can sing too, if you want."

Dean grinned, and turned to Sam and Bobby, who smiled back at him.

The guitarist nodded at Dean, so he started playing the beginning notes like he was just taught.

Bobby and Sam were impressed as they listened to Dean play the right notes on the guitar.

"... _Leaves are falling all around, it's time I was on my way..."_ The singer pointed at Dean, who stepped up beside him.

 _"Thanks to you, I'm much obliged for such a pleasant stay,"_ Dean sang softly into the microphone. _  
_

"Bloody good job," said the singer with a big smile, before he sang the next part.  _"But now it's time for me to go. The autumn moon lights my way..."_

Dean couldn't stop smiling, not only was he playing the guitar, but he was also on stage with Zeppelin. They may not be the real thing, but it was the closest he would ever come to it.

* * *

After 'Ramble on', the band let Dean play 'Travelling riverside blues' with them, since they knew he loved that one too.

When Dean went to sit down with his new guitar, he had the biggest grin. "That was seriously awesome."

"You were pretty good."

"I fricking rocked," Dean told them, wrapping the blanket around himself, holding his guitar to his chest.

"What's your next request?"

"Uh... All my love."

"You got it." He nodded at the others, and the band started playing again.  _"Should I fall out of love, my fire in the light. To chase a feather in the wind..."_

Dean smiled as he sang along quietly to the song.

There had been many times, especially in the past few months, when Dean had smiled to hide his sadness and laughed to hide his tears, it felt really good to smile and laugh because he was happy. It had been a long time since he felt genuinely happy, and he hoped it lasted.

* * *

The band played until the early hours of the morning, and the night ended with a huge firework display that had been set up by Bobby.

"Wow," whispered Dean, watching the fireworks shoot up into the sky where they exploded into a beautiful multitude of different colours.

Sam shifted closer to Dean as they watched the patterns light up the night sky one after the other. He looked over at Dean, and saw the colours reflected in his eyes and the childlike joy on the thin face. Sam had remembered that Dean loved fireworks when they were younger and knew this would be the perfect way to end the day.

Dean's eyes darted from one firework to another, watching the explosions of colour, lighting up the sky with reds, blues, greens, yellows, purples, and oranges.

Colours chased each other across the sky, crackling and exploding as they revealed themselves to the small group of onlookers, before been replaced by the next ones.

Bobby watched the boys huddled together, a rainbow of colours reflected on both their happy faces, making a similar smile cross his own.

Last of all were the rockets, which exploded red, green, and blue, each explosion bigger than the last, each bright splash across the darkness brighter and somehow more beautiful.

"Whoa. Did you see that one? It was frigging awesome."

"Yeah. But that one is better," said Sam, pointing up at the huge blue splash of colour.

A massive bang echoed through the field, and an explosion of different colours lit up the sky, looking like tins of multicoloured paint had been splashed over a canvas.

"WHOA!" they yelled in unison, before turning to grin at each other.

After the fireworks, it was time for bed, so the brothers and Bobby said goodnight to the tribute band. Dean went over, shook their hands and thanked them.

"No problem mate, we had a lot of fun," said the drummer, shaking the thin hand gently, before gesturing to the guitar Dean was still holding. "Keep practising."

"Don't worry, I'll be driving Sammy and Bobby crazy with this thing."

"Good luck," said the singer, shaking his hand again.

"You too. It was the best night ever. Thanks a lot."

"You're very welcome. Goodnight."

"Bye guys," said Dean, before joining Sam on the porch. He gave Bobby a hug, and walked inside. "I can't-" He broke off when a yawn interrupted him, and he rubbed his left eye sleepily.

"Let's get you to bed, sleepy," Sam said, walking his tired brother upstairs. "Bobby wants to get up early to do a bit of fishing."

"As long as you don't wake me up at 'Oh my god, what the hell' o'clock in the morning," Dean grumbled, yawning again.

Sam raised his eyebrows. "That's a real time, is it?"

"In my world, yeah."

"And what world is that? La-la Land?"

"Shut up, freak." At the top of the stairs, Dean stopped and gave Sam a hug. "Thanks for a great day Sammy."

Sam smiled and hugged him back tightly. "You're more than welcome, big brother."

After the hug, the two walked to their own rooms, leaving the doors open. Dean gently placed his guitar on the foot of the bed, and climbed into it.

As he settled down onto the pillow, and covered himself up with the blankets, he tried to choose which part of today was the best, but couldn't decide between getting the Winchester rifle, or the guitar, getting to drive again, the firework display, or the tribute band. Overall, it was the best birthday he had ever had.

Dean closed his eyes, and for the first time in a long time, he fell asleep with a smile on his face.

**TBC**

**Hope you like**


	19. Chapter 19

' _CRASH! SMASH!'_

Dean jerked awake at the noise, his eyes shooting open. He was about to reach under the pillow, but relaxed when he heard the familiar voice of Sam saying 'oops'.

He sighed, and checked the clock on the bedside table and saw it was nearly 7am. He frowned, and looked around the room for Sam, but then he remembered they were staying at the cabin and had separate rooms.

He heard more noises coming from downstairs, telling him that the other two men were already up and around. Throwing the covers back, he slowly climbed out of bed, and walked into the huge bathroom.

After he finished, he walked back into the bedroom, shivering and wrapped himself in Sam's hoodie to keep warm, and walked downstairs.

Hearing someone enter the kitchen, Sam turned to greet his brother, who was rubbing his eyes sleepily. His hair was sticking up in every direction, making him look like a sleepy child, especially since he was engulfed in Sam's hoodie, which looked like a tent on a clothes hanger. "There you are, sleeping beauty," he greeted, wearing a pink flowery apron over his clothes, and waving the spatula. "Sleep well?"

"Ngh-Ruh. Guh-munguh," Dean mumbled, shuffling across the room, and sitting at the table. "Ummmmm. Wagaduin."

Sam raised his eyebrows, and stared at him. "What?"

"Wassit. Nuh tu-gnugh. Coffee."

Sam blinked and continued staring at Dean's Zombie impression. "Okay, I think I understood one word out of all that," he said, reaching for a cup to pour him some coffee.

Dean crossed his arms over the table, and laid his head on them. He jerked in surprise when Sam put the cup of coffee in-front of him.

"Are you alright? How did you sleep?"

"Uunghhhh. No talk... Coffee," he mumbled, sitting up, and grabbing the cup in both hands, taking a sip of the boiling liquid.

Sam bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. "Are pancakes alright this morning? If it's not, I can make you something else."

"Nuh. It's Fu-juh. Mmmmm."

"I'll take that as a no, it's fine," said an amused Sam, turning back to the pancakes. When they were ready, he put them on three separate plates, and placed them on the table. "You've only got half, so eat as much as you can."

"Kay." Dean kept hold of his coffee, and awkwardly picked up his fork in his left hand. After every bite, he had a sip of coffee, each mouthful making him more awake, and coherent.

"Good morning boys," said Bobby, coming into the cabin with a huge tub in his arms.

"Guh-munguh Buh," mumbled Dean, before yawning again.

Bobby's eyebrows shot up, and he looked over at Sam. "What's wrong with him?"

"I think he's tired, and he hasn't had enough coffee yet. Breakfasts out."

"Yeah, I can see that," said Bobby, carefully placing the tub on the counter, before joining his boys at the table.

"What's in the tub?" asked Sam, sitting down.

"Worms."

Dean stopped chewing, and stared at Bobby with his mouth hanging open. "Uh wuh?"

When Bobby looked over at Sam, the younger Winchester translated, "He said it's what?"

"Bait... For fishing." Bobby frowned worriedly at Dean, who was still staring at him. "Are ya alright?"

Dean spat the mouthful out beside his plate, and closed his eyes. He covered his mouth with his free hand, and swallowed heavily a few times.

"Dean?" Sam shot out of his chair, and knelt next to him, rubbing his back gently.

The next few minutes were spent in silence as Sam tried to soothe his brother who was trying not to bring up the breakfast he had managed to eat before Bobby had brought the box of worms into the kitchen.

While Sam helped Dean, Bobby watched with a guilty expression. "Is he okay?"

"I'm not sure," said Sam, before turning back to Dean. "It's alright, I've got you. Just keep taking deep breaths."

* * *

When Dean recovered, he managed to eat most of his half a pancake, and was on his third cup of coffee, before he became more human and less zombie.

"You did well," said a proud Sam, gesturing at the small piece that was left. He got up and went over to the sink to pour a glass of water, and get Dean's anti-depressant. "Here. Take this."

After swallowing it, he looked over at Sam, and stared. "Sam? What the holy frick are you wearing?" he asked, finally noticing what Sam had on.

Sam looked down at himself and laughed. "There weren't any other aprons around, so I had to wear this one."

"Well, you look like a freak," he said, mouth opening wide in a yawn.

"If you're still tired, you can go back to bed if you want."

Dean thought about it for a few seconds, but shook his head. "No. If I'm up, I'm up."

"Okay. But if you need some rest, take a nap later," Sam told him.

Dean sighed, and drank the rest of his coffee. "I'll go get changed," he said, standing up from the table.

"Are you sure this is a good idea? You nearly threw up not that long ago. Maybe you should wait until later."

"I'll be fine," he told his worried sibling.

"But... but... What if..."

"If he starts feeling unwell, I'll bring him in myself."

"Sam seriously, I'll be fine. I'll tell you what, later I'll kick your ass at pool and darts, how about that?"

"Okay. But get loads of layers on, it's cold out there."

"Yes mother," he sighed, going up to his room to get dressed.

* * *

By the time Dean came back downstairs, Bobby was standing in the kitchen with the huge fishing box at his feet and the poles held beside him. "Ready?"

"Yeah." Dean nodded, and adjusted all the layers he had on.

"Are you going to be warm enough?"

"Er... I think so. I've got two t-shirts, two sweaters, your hoodie, two of my jackets, and two pairs of jeans. I think I'll manage not to freeze to death."

Sam turned from the counter, and held a Thermos of hot coffee out. "To keep you warm, so you don't get too cold."

Dean rolled his eyes, and took the Thermos. "Sam, will you chill out for a minute? I'll be fine."

"I'll call you in when it's time for lunch, okay?"

"Okay. See you, Sammy," said Dean, turning around, and going outside.

"Don't worry, Sam. I'll look after him," Bobby told him, before following Dean outside.

"I don't get what Sam was so panicked about, it's not that cold."

Bobby looked at Dean, who was already shivering, and zipping up the jackets he was wearing. "Not cold, huh?"

"It's windy." Dean avoided looking at Bobby, and walked over to the huge lake. The wind blew violently, almost knocking him off his feet.

"Whoa," said Bobby, throwing his free arm around him. "Are ya alright?"

"Yeah. Hey, if you get bored, you could tie some string around my legs and use me as a kite."

Bobby chuckled, and they continued walking. When they made it to the lake, he put down the kit and poles, and sat down in one of the chairs that were already out there.

"Yer in that one," Bobby told Dean, nodding at the armchair with the blanket over it.

Dean sat down, covering himself up with the blanket as Bobby got everything ready. With all the layers on, he wasn't really all that cold, but he knew that Bobby was just as bad as Sam sometimes.

After Bobby set everything up, both men relaxed, and waited for the fish to take the bait.

"How are ya feeling today, son?"

Dean looked from the water to Bobby, and shrugged as he looked away again. "Is that why you wanted me to go fishing with you?"

"No. I wanted some alone time with my boy. Is that illegal now?"

A smile twitched at the corners of Dean's mouth. "Of course not. It's just..." He trailed off, and stared at the water.

"It's just what?" Bobby asked him quietly. "C'mon. Ya can talk to me. How are ya really feeling?"

"Okay right now, to be honest. But I'm taking it one day at a time."

"Just remember that me and Sam are right here with ya every step of the way."

"I know. Thanks."

"Ya don't have to thank family. We'll be here no matter what, whether ya want to talk or even cry."

Dean's nose scrunched up in disgust. "I'm sick of crying. I want... I want to be happy. To be me again."

"We want that too," whispered Bobby, squeezing the bony shoulder gently. "Hey, I think ya caught a fish."

Dean grabbed his pole, and started reeling the fish in with Bobby's help. "Whoa. Look at the size of that. It's frigging huge."

Bobby chuckled, and unhooked it for him. "Want fish for dinner tonight?"

"Er..." Dean stared at the fish for several seconds, before looking at Bobby. "Sure."

After killing the fish, Bobby placed it in the fishing box wrapped in a bag. "There we go."

When they settled back again, the two spent some time alone in silence, before Bobby could no longer stand the quiet. "Ya can talk to me, ya know. About anything."

"Like what?"

"Anything. It'll go no further than here, ya know that. If ya wanted to talk about... about what happened," Bobby told him in a low voice. "I know ya hate chick-flick moments almost as much as I do. But if ya want to talk... I won't even tell Sam. It'll be our secret."

Dean stared out at the water for several minutes. "I... I don't wanna die anymore," he whispered, knowing it was true since his breakdown in the shower the night before.

A big smile lit up Bobby's face when he heard that. "Good. I'm glad ya think yer worth saving."

"When dad died, I wanted to die too," Dean said, tears glistening in his eyes. "But I still had one job to do... take care of Sam. But he didn't really seem to need me anymore. I thought maybe... maybe the demon was right. They didn't really need me."

"Of course he needs ya, yer his brother. I need ya too," Bobby added in a low whisper.

Dean pretended he didn't hear the last part, and told Bobby the things he had kept to himself for too long. He didn't know why, but he could open up more easily to Bobby than Sam. "I literally didn't know what to do. When dad was around, I knew what to do, I always had a purpose. All I was good for was following orders, and being a good little soldier," he whispered through clenched teeth. "It's all I ever was."

Bobby swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat. "Yer more than that. A lot more."

Dean reached over for the Thermos, and took a sip of the hot coffee. "Every time I looked in the mirror, I hated what I saw."

"And what was that?"

"Something worthless. A failure that should have died in that car crash. I should have died, not dad," he whispered tearfully.

"It's alright son. I'm glad yer still here. It would've broken my heart if something happened to ya." Out of the corner of his eye, he kept a lookout for any movement in the lake that would give some indication that they had caught another fish.

Dean took a deep breath, and tried to get control of his emotions before continuing. He looked over at the man who was like a second dad to him, and saw the expression on his face was filled with love. Looking away again, he continued. "I... I didn't even notice when I stopped eating. I guess that must've been the depression... not that I wanted to admit it."

Bobby's heart broke all over again as he watched Dean silently, the pale face all angles and protrusions. "Ya could've come to me... or Sam."

"I know, but..."

"But nothing. Ya have a problem, ya tell family. That's what we're here for. It's a bad idea to keep it bottled up."

Dean bit his bottom lip, and looked down at the bony fingers that were wrapped around the fishing pole. "Even when I managed to eat, I sometimes threw up. I didn't really take that much notice of it at first, then my clothes started getting baggy, so I wore more layers. Eventually it got worse," he said, leaving out some of the details. "Then it went on for weeks, and I just... I think I realised how much I really wanted to die, so I stopped altogether."

Bobby shook his head. How could his boy have suffered so much without him or Sam noticing? "Ya only ate when me or Sam made ya eat something."

Dean smiled without humour. "Not that I kept it. Then I er... I started getting pains in my stomach," he whispered, running his bony fingers over his protruding ribs, before lowering his hand to his stomach and rubbing gently. "It felt like I had a dog using my insides as a chew toy."

Bobby winced in sympathy. "Ouch."

"The pain was... I felt I deserved it for letting dad die."

"Ya didn't. It wasn't yer fault. Yer daddy died because he couldn't sit back and watch his son slowly die. It was his decision, son. It wasn't yer fault," Bobby told him, throwing one arm around Dean, and pulling him close.

Dean dropped the fishing pole, and wrapped both his arms around the older man. "I-I'm sorry."

"Shh. Nothing to be sorry for, idjit."

"I just... I didn't think anyone would care. Even when I started getting better, and wanted to live, a big part still wanted to give up... I still wanted to die..." He broke off, shaking his head. "But now... I don't wanna die anymore," he repeated in a trembling voice. "I don't wanna die, Bobby."

Bobby threw his own pole to the floor, and wrapped his other arm around him, holding him as tight as he dared. He brought one hand up to stroke through the soft hair. "I've got ya son. I've got ya."

* * *

The two men stayed there for awhile, holding onto each other. Dean noticed Bobby's pole moving as he looked over at the lake. "I think you caught a fish."

"Leave it. My boy needs me right now."

Dean smiled slightly when Bobby said he was more important than something else. A couple of minutes later, he pulled away, taking a deep breath as he wiped his teary eyes. "Sorry about all that."

"About what? Nothing happened other than two men fishing together. If ya tell anybody about our... moment, I'll throw ya in the lake and let the fish eat ya."

Dean nodded. "Right. Nothing happened."

Bobby winked at him, and looked down at his watch. "Want to go back inside? Or do ya feel up to fishing for a bit longer?"

"Fishing," said Dean, grabbing his pole again, before grinning cheekily at Bobby. "I bet I catch more fish than you."

"Oh, yer on," growled Bobby, picking his own pole up again, and putting more bait on his hook when he saw a fish had eaten the other worm. "If ya ever want to talk without Sam around, ya can always come to me. My garage is always open."

"Thanks Bobby."

"Hey, If ya want anything from the store, Sam or I will go. Ya don't have to do anything or go anywhere ya don't want to."

Dean nodded, and held onto the pole with one hand while he picked up the Thermos again to drink the hot coffee Sam had made. He sighed, and relaxed back in the chair as him and his second dad spent some time alone.

* * *

Later when the two men went back to the cabin, Sam was making them some lunch. He looked over at Dean who was now wearing Bobby's hat with his hood over his head.

"Hey guys. Did you catch some fish?"

"Duuuude, you should've seen one that Bobby caught," said Dean with a happy grin. "It was like a whale or something."

Bobby chuckled. "A bit of an exaggeration, son. It wasn't that big."

"Oh, it was. If you kept it, it would've lasted us months," said Dean, taking down the hood, and sitting at the table.

Sam put Dean's plate in-front of him. "Sounds like you had a good time."

"Yeah. It was a lot more fun than I thought it would be. I thought I'd end up been bored to death or something."

Bobby handed Sam the bag with the one fish they had caught and kept. "We're having fish for dinner tonight."

"Okay. Is er... Is Dean alright with it?"

"Yeah. HE is fine with it," said Dean, waving his hand to get their attention.

"Sorry," said Sam, putting the fish away for later.

Bobby sat down, and smiled over at Dean. He raised his eyebrows, silently asking Dean if he was okay.

Dean nodded, picking up his fork.

"Let's eat," said Sam, interrupting the silent conversation as he joined them at the table. "Hope you like it. I've never made this before." He looked over at Dean. "Try to eat as much as you can."

Dean took a deep breath, and looked down at the spaghetti bolognese, the tiny portion looked big enough for a toddler. 'I can do this,' he thought as he twirled the spaghetti onto his fork.

While they ate, the other two men kept shooting glances at Dean as he slowly ate his lunch. He kept stopping and closing his eyes, muttering to himself, but at least he was eating it.

* * *

It took Dean nearly half an hour to eat his tiny portion, but he finished it and put his fork down with a trembling hand. "I-I did it," he whispered with a surprised expression. He looked up at Sam and Bobby, his eyes shining. "I did it."

Sam shot up off his chair so fast it fell to the floor, and threw his arms around him. "You did amazing Dean. I'm really proud of you," he whispered, giving him a gentle squeeze.

"Well done son," said Bobby with a proud fatherly smile. He hoped Dean continued to take steps forward like this, and didn't take any steps back. He knew any sort of stress or upset would cause a setback, and he was going to do everything he could to make sure that didn't happen.

When Sam pulled away, he had tears in his eyes, and was grinning widely.

Dean stared at him. "Sam, if you don't quit grinning at me, your face is going to freeze that way. You'd make a great joker for the next batman movie."

Sam laughed, and hugged Dean again. "Sorry. I'm just... I'm so proud of you."

"I'm proud too," said Dean, looking down at the empty plate as Sam continued to hug the life out of him.

"Sam, will ya let the poor kid go? If ya squeeze him anymore, he'll end up being sick."

Sam jumped back as if Dean had suddenly turned into a clown. "Crap. I'm sorry. Are you alright?"

"Yeah. I need to take a leak, I've been outside nearly all morning," he said, standing from his chair, and going upstairs.

Locking the door behind him, he took care of business. Spending hours outside without a break wasn't good on the bladder.

After buttoning up his jeans, he fell to his knees in-front of the toilet. Looking into the bowl, his breathing hitched, and he swallowed heavily, clenching his bony hands into fists as he fought against himself.

He shook his head, clenching his jaw tightly. "No," he said, slamming the lid down, and resting his face against the cold porcelain. "I-I can't." Dean closed his eyes against the tears, and hid his face in his arms.

Dean stayed kneeling in-front of the toilet for several minutes, before getting shakily to his feet. He walked over to the sink, washed his hands, and wet his face with cold water. He looked up into the mirror, and glared at his thin-faced reflection. "Screw you, you sonofabitch."

After taking a few deep breaths to steady himself, he turned away and walked back into his room to change into something more comfortable to wear, before picking up his books and MP3 player and walking downstairs.

* * *

When Sam walked into the living room after washing up, he did a double take when he saw Dean curled up in the big armchair, wearing black sweatpants and Sam's hoodie, reading one of his books.

"Hey Dean." When Dean didn't answer, he walked over, and saw he had his music on loud again, so he tapped his shoulder to get his attention.

Dean jerked in surprise and looked up. "Hey Sam. What's up?" he asked, pausing the song.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm preparing to go skydiving, Sam. What does it look like?" he said, lifting the book slightly, so Sam could see the cover of the Shining.

Sam nodded at the hoodie. "You're actually wearing that by choice. Are you okay?"

Dean shrugged, and looked down, a slight blush colouring his pale cheeks. "It's er... It's still cold," he told him, refusing to give the real reason.

"I was wondering if you wanted to watch a movie with me."

"Oh. Okay," said Dean, bending the page slightly to mark where he was. "Where's Bobby?"

"He said he was going to the store. I didn't ask why, and he didn't say."

Dean nodded, and pointed at the massive TV. "What are we watching?"

"I don't know yet. There are loads to choose from," said Sam, walking over to have a look at the DVDs. When he chose one, he put the disk into the player, and went to sit on the couch that was closer to the chair. "Are you ready?" he asked, holding the remote out.

"Yeah. What is it?"

"I have no idea. I just chose one at random. There's about a hundred over there."

Dean snuggled down into the comfortable chair, and watched the DVD with his little brother.

* * *

When the romance finally finished, Dean yawned. "Wow. That had everything I like in a movie."

"What's that?"

"An ending," answered Dean, looking completely bored. "I swear, if you could be literally bored to death, I think that would've finished me off. I'd rather go flying in a plane filled with rats than watch that crap again."

Sam laughed, and got up to put something else on. "How about we watch one of your new ones? Are they still in your bag?"

"Yeah. Want me to go up for them?"

"No. You stay there. I'll get them."

Dean watched Sam run up the stairs. He yawned tiredly, and rubbed his eyes. The three hours of sleep he managed the night before was catching up to him. He rested back against the cushions and pulled the blanket higher.

By the time Sam came back downstairs, Dean was fast asleep.

**TBC**


	20. Chapter 20

When Bobby came back a few hours later, he found the brothers in the main room watching one of Dean's Metallica DVDs, with Dean singing along, much to Sam's amusement.

"Hey boys," Bobby said, giving Dean a bag with some books in. "There ya go."

"What is it?" Dean paused the DVD and took the bag and opened it up to see some books on how to play the guitar, he took them out and riffled through the pages. "Wow. Thanks Bobby."

"Yer welcome. I got ya some more books for rock music and heavy metal, so ya can learn how to play yer favourites from AC/DC to Zeppelin."

"Cool," he exclaimed, putting the bag down, before going upstairs. When he came back a few minutes later, he was carrying his new black Gibson SG guitar. After setting everything up, he stood with his guitar. "See if I can remember the beginning of Ramble on."

Sam and Bobby smiled at each other, and watched as Dean played the opening notes of one of his favourite songs. He managed to get all the notes right, and stood grinning proudly. "What do you think? Do I rock, or what?"

"Yeah. You were pretty good. You're not going to start playing that over and over again all day, are you?"

"Well, I need to practice. I can't be a rockstar if I don't know how to play it."

The other two men looked at each other and sighed, knowing that Dean was going to drive them crazy. But if Dean was happy, then so were they.

Dean gently placed his guitar in the chair, and opened one of the instruction books to teach you how to play your very first guitar, and read the first few pages.

"Okay," he said, picking up his guitar again. Dividing his attention between the strings and the book, he strummed each string in turn, muttering under his breath. "E-A-D-G-B-e. E-A-D-G-B-e. Even Attractive Dudes Get Bored Eventually. Easy to remember."

"Dean, what are you talking about?" asked a confused Sam, watching him.

"It's to remember which string is which, so I made up my own way to remember it," he told him, picking up one of the other books.

The other two men watched as Dean studied the book, before trying to play it on the guitar. He was a fast learner, and it took no time at all to play the beginning notes of 'Stairway to heaven'. It was a little shaky and slow, but it was also easy to tell which song it was especially with Dean humming along.

Sam had a big smile on his face as he watched Dean playing his guitar. He was so glad Bobby had this idea, it would give Dean something to concentrate on while he recovered.

"Did you hear that? Was it awesome? I think it was awesome," said Dean, grinning at them both.

"It was real awesome, son. Yer doing a great job," said a proud Bobby. "If ya keep that up, yer going to be able to start yer own rock band soon."

Dean's grin widened at the praise, and he sang along as he played, making Sam and Bobby tear up at the happiness on his thin face.

* * *

Later, they went down to the basement to spend some quality time together as brothers, and have a game of pool.

"Okay, rack them up, Sammy boy," said Dean, getting two cues ready for them both. When he turned around, it was to see Sam moving one of the comfy chairs closer to the pool table. "Sam?"

After getting the chair where he wanted it, Sam straightened up and turned to Dean. "What?"

"What the hell are you doing?"

"In-case you feel dizzy and need to sit down."

"I'm not a child, Sam. I don't need a chair attached to me everywhere I go, I'll be okay standing for awhile."

"But how long is awhile?" asked Sam, putting his hands on his hips. "What if you feel dizzy suddenly, and collapse before we even know what happened?"

"Seriously, if it was up to you guys, I'd have a chair surgically attached to my ass in-case I need to sit down. I'm not helpless, or as weak as you both seem to think I am."

Bobby walked down the stairs, and saw that Dean was getting worked up as he struggled to get control of his emotions. "We know that son, nobody said ya were weak or helpless..."

"But you  _are_  sick," Sam added, looking at Dean in concern. "You weren't there when you collapsed when we went to the store."

"Er... I think I was."

"Yeah, but you weren't  _there,_ you didn't see," said Sam, biting his lip when it started trembling. "I thought you were dying, you weren't moving, and..." He couldn't continue as the image of his pale, skeletal brother laying unconscious in a hospital bed came into his mind.

Dean sighed, and shook his head in exasperation. "Fine. But if you go overboard, and try to carry me or something, you'll both be on the ass end of an ass-kicking," he threatened, making Bobby chuckle.

"Look, I'm sorry if you think we're being overprotective, but we don't want you to end up back in the hospital again."

"I won't Sam. If I start feeling dizzy, I'll sit down, okay? So stop spazzing out."

"Okay, I'll try. Sorry about that."

"Don't let it happen again. I've had enough chick-flick moments in the past few weeks to last me a lifetime," he said, handing Sam one of the cues.

Sam took the offered pool cue, and walked back to the table to rack the balls up. "Since you're the birthday boy, you can go first."

"It was my birthday yesterday," he said, but joined him at the table, leaning slightly forward, ready to take the shot. "You're not going to start crying when I beat you, are you?"

"Take a shot."

Dean looked suspiciously at Sam, but aimed at the balls, trying to stop the trembling in his hands. After taking a deep breath to steady himself, he took a shot, smiling proudly when he saw four balls fall into the pockets. "I still got it."

"Good shot, son," said Bobby, sitting in one of the chairs, watching them spend some time together, having fun.

Dean moved around the table, and was getting ready to hit the balls again when Sam suddenly whistled, distracting him. "Dude."

"What? I felt like whistling. Is that a crime?"

"If you don't quit it, I'm going to shove my foot up your ass. Is  **that**  a crime?"

Sam started laughing. "I've missed this."

"What? Me threatening to stick my foot up your... places? Because that's just weird."

"No. I mean us acting like brothers again."

Dean cleared his throat, and looked down. "Me too. Now get ready to lose." He got ready to take another shot, and was about to hit the ball when Sam cleared his throat loudly. "DUDE!"

"Sorry. I was clearing my throat," Sam told him, trying to look innocent, but the big smile ruined it.

"Of course you were." Dean managed to take a shot, pocketing two balls. He continued taking shots until he missed, and took a step back away from the table.

Sam picked up his cue, and got ready to hit the green ball. He jumped in surprise when Dean suddenly yelled, "METALLICA RULES!" right behind him.

"What? It wasn't me. I didn't do it. You can't prove anything," said Dean, hands up in surrender, his green eyes wide.

Bobby was laughing at the pair of them as he walked over and put some music on the jukebox that was in the corner of the room.

As Meat loaf's Bat out of hell played in the room, the brothers continued playing pool, each trying to make the other laugh.

"Hey, you cheated," Sam whined, pointing an accusing finger at him.

"No. I'm just awesome."

Sam smiled, but didn't argue. His brother  _was_  pretty awesome, it was nice to see a little bit of Dean's confidence coming through again, it had been a long time.

* * *

In the end Dean won, but Sam wanted a rematch, so he racked the balls up again while Dean went to get a drink.

When Sam finished, Dean went first again, and managed to pocket two of the balls at opposite ends of the table. He straightened up to take another shot, but he stood too fast, and had to blink away the sudden dizziness. His hand reached out to grab Sam, but he was at the other end of the table, and he went down like a limp noodle.

"DEAN!" yelled Sam and Bobby, running over to Dean, who was slowly trying to sit up. "Hey, don't move."

"I'm fine, Sammy."

"Yeah, you look it. Do you need us to call an ambulance or something? Are you alright?" he rambled, sounding panicked.

"Not really... I think I broke my ass."

Sam and Bobby rolled their eyes, and helped him up, carefully leading him over to the chair. Sitting him down into the thick cushions, Sam placed his palm on Dean's forehead. "What happened?"

"I stood up too fast and felt a little dizzy, Sam. Stop panicking."

"How can you tell me to stop panicking? The last time this happened, you didn't wake up for days. Don't..." Sam stopped, tears falling down his cheeks as he stood up and walked away, his hand covering his mouth.

Dean looked up at Bobby. "Was it really that bad?"

Bobby didn't answer for several minutes, he swallowed the sudden lump in his throat and tried to regain control of his emotions. "Yeah," was all he said, refusing to admit they were two of the worst days of his life. "I'll get ya a sandwich from upstairs. I'll be back in a sec."

Dean nodded, and rested back against the cushions, taking a few deep breaths. "Sammy? Are you okay, dude?"

Sam turned around, and nodded shakily. "Yeah. Don't do that again, you hear me? I'm too young to have a heart attack."

"Yeah, trust me... they're no fun. I'll be okay, Sam. I've got you guys to help me through this. I'll be back to kicking ass in no time."

"I know. And I'll be right there with you," said Sam, reaching over to place his hand over Dean's as another song started on the jukebox. His breath caught when he realised what song it was.

" _T_ _he road is long with a many a winding turn, that leads us to who knows where. Who knows where._ _But I'm strong, s_ _trong enough to carry him. He ain't heavy..."_

 _"_ He's my brother," sang Sam, squeezing Dean's thin hand gently.

Dean swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. They were silent, listening to the song, each lost in their favourite memories of their childhood as they grew up to not only be brothers, but best friends.

The two were so busy listening to the song, they didn't notice Bobby standing at the bottom of the stairs watching them. He knew this was a brother moment, so he placed the sandwich on the pool table and walked back upstairs for a few minutes to give them some alone time.

After the song finished, both Winchesters were looking at each other, tears in their eyes.

"I'm sorry Sammy," Dean whispered tearfully.

"No need to be, we'll get you better. You're the strongest person I know, and this doesn't make you weak," he told him, knowing that Dean thought that him being like this made him weak. Which was so far from the truth.

"But wanting to give up... I didn't think you'd..." Dean shook his head, biting his bottom lip. "After dad died, you sometimes left the room whenever I came in... I thought the demon was right... nobody cared... nobody needed me. I guess I wasn't thinking straight."

"Of course we care. This family needs you, we always have. We love you, you moron."

"I wanted to die... so much," he whispered, clenching his eyes closed.

"I'm so glad you didn't. I don't know what I'd do without my big brother. We may not choose our families, but we choose our best friends... and our heroes. And mine is the best hero of them all," he said, giving Dean's hand another squeeze. "I'm so glad he's my brother... because he's awesome."

A shaky smile crossed Dean's face, which became a grin. "Damn straight," he said, making Sam laugh.

"How about that sandwich?" said Sam, getting up to grab the plate Bobby had left with half a sandwich cut in two. "Here you go."

Dean took the plate, and stared at the half sandwich for several seconds, before picking one of the tiny pieces up with a trembling hand. Closing his eyes, he took a small bite, chewing slowly.

Sam stayed by his side while he ate the half sandwich. Whenever Dean looked as if he was about to give up and put the sandwich down, Sam gave his free hand a squeeze, making him pick it back up, and continue.

Fifteen minutes later, Dean placed the crust in the middle of the plate, and covered his mouth shakily. He kept his eyes scrunched closed until he heard Sam's voice.

"You did it," Sam whispered in a shaky voice, filled with pride.

Opening his eyes, Dean looked down and saw the crust on the otherwise empty plate.

"Way to go, Dean," he said, standing up and wrapping his thin fragile brother in his arms for almost a minute, before letting him go. "How are you feeling now? Do you feel a little better?"

"A little. I don't feel so dizzy anymore." Dean's eyes went wide when he remembered the events of the past few minutes. "Oh great! We've had another chick-flick moment, I need to do something manly to prove I haven't turned into a chick."

"I hope you're not planning on taking your clothes off to prove it. Because that would be weird."

Dean laughed. "No. I'll save that for the ladies," he said, wiggling his eyebrows, making Sam laugh with him. "How about a game of darts?"

"Are you sure? What about..."

"I'm fine, Sam."

Sam still looked worried, but he nodded after a few seconds. "Okay. But rest for half hour or something before we have a game, I don't want... that to happen again. The doctor said you need rest, so that's what you're getting."

"Okay. If it will stop you from having a spaz attack every five minutes."

"Deal," said Sam, shaking Dean's hand gently. "While you rest, I'll go see where Bobby is."

Dean nodded, and settled back into the chair as he watched him disappear up the stairs. As soon as he was out of sight, Dean brought his knees up to his chest, resting his head against his knees. Quietly, he whispered to himself, "I can do this."

* * *

After Dean had rested for awhile, they each had a handful of darts and were standing near the dartboard.

"Are ya sure yer going to be able to hit the board?" asked Bobby, looking down at Dean's hands, which were shaking slightly.

"Of course I can. Even if I'm half dead, I'll still be able to shoot a demon between the eyes even if they're ten feet away."

"Aiming with a gun and a dart are two different things," said Sam, exchanging doubtful looks with Bobby.

"If you don't believe me..." Dean stepped in-front of the dartboard, and threw the dart, grinning when he saw where it landed. "BULLSEYE!"

"Wow." Sam looked impressed when he saw the dart sticking out of the middle of the board. "Okay, I guess we were wrong."

Dean turned back to the board in-front of him. There was a couple of times he had to steady his hand, but he managed to hit two more bullseyes, before grabbing his darts, and stepping back so Sam could have a turn.

Bobby moved the chair over, and sat Dean in it while Sam had his go. "No arguments, not after what happened earlier."

This time, Dean didn't even roll his eyes, he sat down in the chair, and waited for his next turn.

On his fourth turn, one of Dean's darts missed the board and landed on the floor. "Dammit." He was about to throw the third one when Sam suddenly walked right in-front of the board. "Whoa. Sam what the hell are you doing, you idiot?"

"I'm picking the dart up so you can have your next go," Sam told him, picking it up and handing it over.

"Couldn't you have done it after I threw this one?" he asked, holding the other dart up. "I don't want to end up taking you to the hospital because you've got a dart in the eye or your ass or something."

"Sorry." Sam stepped back, and let Dean take aim.

Dean shook his head, and threw the dart, smiling when once again he got a bullseye. "You know, this is kind of like target practice," he said, throwing his last dart, before going to collect them to go back and sit in the chair.

After Sam finished, he turned back to Dean, who was staring at a poster of a lake with lightning above it. "Hey Dean? Are you alright?"

"Sam, I've got a question. When there's a storm and lightning strikes the sea, why don't all the fish die?"

Sam blinked in surprise at the completely random question, and stared at him. "What are you asking me that for?"

"I don't know. That poster over there looks like lightning is striking water, and I was wondering why the fish don't die." When Sam continued staring at him, Dean smiled. "What? You're the walking encyclopaedia of weirdness, you should know these things. If they did, fishing would be a hell of a lot easier."

Bobby chuckled fondly. "Ya ask some weird questions. Just play darts, ya idjit."

Dean laughed, and stood up to have his turn.

* * *

After a few more rounds of darts, Dean nodded over at the TV with the huge collection of consoles on the cabinet at the other side of the room.

"Fancy a game, Sammy?"

Sam nodded, and put his darts down, before closing the wooden door over the dartboard. "Alright. I'm sure they'll be something to play here. You go sit down."

Dean sighed, and did what Sam asked without arguing for once, and sat in the chair. His eyes went wide when he saw one of the games consoles. "Oh my god. Is that a super Nintendo? I haven't seen one of those since we were kids. I want to play Mario. Has he got Mario? We've got to play Mario."

"I'll take a guess, and say the idjit wants to play Mario."

"How did you guess?" asked an amused Sam, kneeling in-front of the console and looking through the games underneath. He smiled when he found a familiar game, and picked it up to show Dean. "Super Mario world, is that the right one?"

"Yeah." Dean was making grabby hands at one of the controls. "Pass me one."

"Wait a minute," said Sam, placing the game into the slot on the top and turning it on. After getting everything ready, he picked up the two controls and sat beside Dean. "You Mario, me Luigi?"

"Yeah." Making sure he put it on 2 player, Dean started to play the first level. "Finally, someone who gets kidnapped more than you do."

Sam gently thumped Dean in the shoulder. "Hey. I don't get kidnapped that often."

Dean laughed, and continued with the game. "Wow. This feels weird."

"Just like old times. We used to play this at Bobby's, remember?"

"Of course I remember."

"GET THE THING! GET THE THING!" yelled Sam, nudging him, not looking away from the screen.

"I'M GETTING THE THING! SHUT UP! Woo. Did you see that?" asked Dean, controlling Mario's way through the level, speeding around like a lunatic, shooting everything with the 'fire flower'. "Oh you little bitch. You'll pay for that."

Sam was surprised Dean didn't fall down any holes with how fast he was going, and watched him run to the end and jump to reach the goal.

"WOO! Who rocks?" Dean asked, holding his hand up.

Sam gave him a high-five, and picked his controller up for his turn. "Hopefully, I remember what to do."

"Don't worry, Sammy. It'll all come back." Dean was quiet for a minute, before he started yelling, "JUMP! JUMP! SAMMY JUMP!"

"I AM JUMPING!" he yelled back, making Luigi jump over the hole he nearly fell down..

For awhile, the only sound in the basement/game room was the Ozzy Osbourne song currently playing on the jukebox, and their laughter, something which hadn't been heard for a long time, until Sam started yelling, and shaking Dean's arm frantically.

"GRAB THE MUSHROOM! DON'T GET SQUASHED! YOU'VE NEARLY... JUMP!"

"WILL YOU SHUT UP?"

"MAKE SURE... He fell down the hole. You fell down the hole."

"Ladies and gentleman, the worlds greatest detective... Sam Winchester," said Dean, pointing his thumb at Sam. "I might have made it if you weren't shaking my arm, jackass."

"Sorry. My turn." Sam picked his controller up, and looked at Dean. They were silent for a few seconds, then burst out laughing.

"Kids," Bobby muttered, once again smiling as he watched his boys act like children. He was glad they came here, it was worth anything to see them acting like this again after what they had been through recently.

**TBC**


	21. Chapter 21

A couple of days later, they were back at Bobby's because Dean had an appointment later that day. Since Dean had liked it so much at the cabin, Sam and Bobby were going to take him back there as often as they could.

Sam was busy in the kitchen, researching again, and writing information in his book to try to help Dean. He didn't notice Dean come into the kitchen until he looked up and saw him standing there like a statue. "Are you okay?" he asked worriedly, standing up when Dean didn't answer; he stood there staring at something on the page Sam had been writing on. "Dean?"

Dean finally blinked and looked away from the stick-figure drawing that Sam had drawn when he was bored, and up at Sam. "Is that me?"

"What are you..." Sam trailed off when he noticed that Dean was looking back at the table. "Nononono. It's just... I was doodling while I was bored earlier."

"I swear to god Sam, if you're trying to make fun of me by drawing pictures of..." Dean trailed off, clenching his jaw angrily.

"Dean, they're only stick figures... that's about as far as my drawing talent goes. I wasn't making fun of you, I wouldn't do that," he promised, both hands cradling Dean's thin face so he wouldn't keep looking at the drawing. "I was doing more research about depression related eating disorders in men, and I..."

"STOP CALLING IT THAT!" Dean yelled angrily, pushing away from Sam. The shout was loud enough to bring Bobby in from the living room.

"What's wrong with ya idjits now? Everything okay?"

"Yeah. I swear the next person who mentions anything relating to depression and the 'eating disorder' is going to be suffering from a fist related teeth disorder. You hear me?" Dean's narrowed eyes darted between both men, his fists clenched by his sides, daring any of them to say it.

"Er... Did I miss something?" asked a confused Bobby.

Sam shook his head, not looking away from Dean. "It's okay. We won't call it that anymore, if it upsets you. We'll call it the problem or something, since I know you hate that word... and the A word."

Dean nodded, and looked down at the stick-figure again until Sam walked over and closed the book. "Hey, look at me," he said, standing back in-front of Dean, and turning his face up to look at him. "It's not you. You don't look anything like that, okay?"

"O-Okay," he whispered, closing his eyes and taking a few deep breaths. After getting himself together, he walked over to the sink and poured a glass of water.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah. I need some water. I've been busy with my guitar," he told them with a smile.

"We noticed. You've hardly left it alone in the past few days."

Dean's smile dropped, and he looked from Sam to Bobby. "It's bothering you?"

"No. We're glad you have something to concentrate on while you recover, but don't forget your appointment this afternoon."

Dean scowled, but nodded, before walking out of the kitchen and back up to his room. Sitting on his bed, he picked his guitar up again and strummed the strings, while reading through one of the books Bobby had bought him.

Over the past couple of days, Dean had gotten pretty good at playing, he now knew the chords and had learned a few songs. A smile came to his face as his fingers started playing the familiar tune to one of his favourites.

* * *

At one in the afternoon, Sam walked upstairs to tell Dean his appointment was in just over an hour and heard him still playing his guitar and singing softly to himself. He leaned against the wall outside their room to listen.

"Life it seems will fade away, drifting further every day. Getting lost within myself, nothing matters, no-one else. I have lost the will to live, simply nothing more to give. There is nothing more for me, need the end to set me free. Things not what they used to be, missing one inside of me. Deathly lost this can't be real, Can't stand this hell I feel. Emptiness is filling me, to the point of agony. Growing darkness taking dawn, I was me but now he's gone."

Outside the bedroom, leaning back against the wall, Sam had tears in his eyes while he listened to his brother.

Taking a deep shuddering breath, Dean closed his eyes, as he continued with a few verses from a couple of other songs. "I give what I've got to give. I give what I need to live. I give what I've got to give. It's important if I wanna live. I wanna live. I want to live my life... I don't wanna die, I sometimes wish I'd never been born at all... No-one but me can save myself, but it's  **not** too late." He came to a stop and lowered his head, a single tear falling down his cheek. "It's not too late. I'm stronger than that. I'll win," Dean whispered to himself with a nod. A frown crossed his face and he shook his head. "What if I can't?"

Sam couldn't bear to hear him doubt himself any longer and walked into the bedroom. "You can and you will," he said, making Dean jump and turn around, looking up at him with his big watery green eyes.

"Are you doing alright?" asked Sam, walking over to sit beside Dean on the bed.

Dean didn't answer, instead he stared down at his bony hands, which were still strumming the strings gently.

"Dean, talk to me."

"What if..." Shaking his head again and taking a deep breath, Dean spoke quietly. "What if that part of me that wants to die speaks louder than the part that wants to live?"

Sam placed his hand over Dean's. "Then you'll continue to shut it up with these," he told him, bringing out the anti-depressants. "And your strength. I meant what I said, Dean... you're the strongest person I know, and you'll get through this. Bobby and I..."

"Will be there for me," Dean finished with a tiny smile. "You've told me a thousand times."

"And if you ever want to talk to any of us, we'll always be here. Even if you don't feel like you can talk to me, you can always talk to Bobby. It's not good to keep everything bottled up."

"Okay. Thanks Sam."

"You're welcome." Taking the top off the pill bottle, Sam took one pill out and held it in his palm. "Here, it's time for this. And it's your appointment soon."

* * *

While they were waiting in the waiting room to be seen by the doctor, Dean was chewing on his fingernail nervously, his eyes darting up to the door every few seconds. "How long do you think they'll be?"

"I'm sure it won't be long. How are you feeling?"

"Okay. I just... I hate doing this. Why do I have to keep coming back?"

"To keep an eye on your weight. It's either that or he'll keep going on about talking to someone and going to the clinic like he did on our other visits."

"Yeah. That's a conversation I never want again. I don't care what the jackass says. I'm not going, and that's the end of it. He can take his lecture and his leaflets and shove them up his ass."

"Dean, I never said you had to. Don't worry..."

"Be happy?" Dean suggested with a cheeky grin, making Sam laugh. He was about to say something else when the door opened and the doctor came out asking for Dean.

"He's here," Sam told him, standing up and walking over to Dr Morgan. He looked back when he noticed Dean wasn't behind him and saw him still sitting in his chair, staring down at his fingers. He walked back over and stood in-front of him. "We can't do this without you, otherwise it'll be me having a random conversation with a doctor... and that'll be boring."

Dean took a deep breath and ran his hand over his face, before standing up and walking ahead of him. "Come on Sammy, what are you waiting for?"

Sam shook his head fondly, and followed after him. Sitting beside Dean, he saw how nervous he seemed to be, fiddling with the sleeve of Sam's hoodie and looking around the room, but not at the other two men.

"How are you feeling Dean?" asked Dr Morgan, sitting in the chair behind his desk with Dean's file.

"Fine. Can we just get this over with so I can get out of here?"

"In a minute. I wanted to ask if anything has changed since the last time I saw you. Any improvements?"

"Yeah," said Sam, taking out his notebook and flipping to the back where he wrote down Dean's weight and what he had been eating, before giving it to the other man. "He's doing better and he's eating more."

"Wow. This is pretty good. Has he been finishing what you've given him?"

"Hey, I'm right here. I'm not that frigging skinny, you know," said Dean, waving his arm angrily. "Will you stop talking about me like I'm not here?"

"I'm sorry," he said, putting the notebook down and picking up some familiar leaflets. "I have to say I'm impressed, but I wanted to talk to you about..."

Before he even finished his sentence, Dean stood from his chair, nearly knocking it over in his anger. "No. I'm not going and that's the end of it."

"Dean, they are fully qualified to deal with people who are suffering with what you are. I'm sure with a strong support system, you'll recover a lot faster."

Dean clenched his hand into a fist, using all his strength not to punch the guy in the nose. "If you send me to one of those places, you might as well sign a death certificate to go with it. I've got a strong support system... I've got my family and they're all I need to help me through this."

Sam got up and stood beside him, placing one hand carefully on Dean's arm. "Dean, it's okay," he whispered, and turned to Dr Morgan. "Sorry doc. I know you mean well, but locking Dean up in one of those places will do more harm than good."

"I assure you, he will not be locked up. The centre is not a prison, it's designed to help people in Dean's situation. There are people he can talk to, who can help."

"I know my brother better than anyone, and the best place for him to recover is his home surrounded by his family, not with a bunch of strangers. If he was there right now, he'll be more closer to death than he was when he went in... or already dead," Sam told him, his eyes tearing up. "If he ever wants to talk, he's got me and Bobby, and surprisingly, he's been doing that. It might not be much, but with time I know he'll talk to us more. We're helping him, and I know it's not going to be an instant cure, that it'll be a long uphill battle to recovery, and he'll struggle and sometimes it'll seem as though he's taking one step forward and two steps back... but we'll be right there to take those steps with him. He needs us, and we're not going anywhere... and neither is he."

The room was silent for several minutes after Sam's speech. The younger Winchester turned away slightly to wipe his eyes discreetly, not wanting the other two men to see how upset he was.

Dean, who was staring at Sam in surprise, broke the silence. "Hold me Sam. That was beautiful," he said, making Sam laugh, before turning back to the man still sitting behind his desk. "Yeah. What he said. I can't go to a place like that. I need my family, without them, I..." Swallowing the lump in his throat, Dean whispered almost to himself. "I can't do this without them. If it wasn't for Sammy and Bobby, I'd already be dead. And for the first time in a long time... I'm glad I'm not."

"I have to say, this is very surprising... And I mean that in a good way. When I first met you in hospital all those weeks ago, you were ready to give up." Dr Morgan nodded, and threw the leaflets in the bin. "Okay. I promise not to bring up the treatment centre in your future appointments. So how about we get down to why you came here?"

Dean nodded, and took off his jackets and boots, and gave them to Sam, who placed them on the chair. Walking over to the scales, Dean came to a sudden stop, and stood staring at the scales as if it was a plane filled with rats.

Stepping up beside Dean, Sam placed a hand gently on his shoulder. "Hey, are you okay?" he asked quietly, even though Dean always struggled with this part. He was always eager to get it over and done with so he could get out of there, but when it actually came to the weigh in, he always froze and seemed reluctant or even scared.

"I can't. What if... What if it's the same or even lower than it was before?"

"We won't know until you get on there. But whatever it is, we'll deal with it... even if it's bad. You've been doing amazingly well since we last came here, which was when you put on that half a pound."

"But... but that's the most I've ever put on. I don't want to disappoint you, Sammy."

"You won't. I'll be proud either way, but to be honest I think it'll be a good number. I know you still haven't been eating much, but you've been able to finish the small amount I give you and it's more than nothing. Come on, get up there."

Biting his bottom lip nervously, and taking a few deep breaths to try and get control of his emotions, Dean finally took the remaining steps to reach the scales and stood still with his eyes squeezed shut and his hands curled into tight fists while the doctor checked the numbers.

"A hundred and nine," said Dr Morgan. "Two pounds."

Dean gasped and his eyes flew open to see the big grin on Sam's face and the tears in his eyes. He looked back at the doctor in shock. "W-What?"

"You've put on two pounds, Dean. That's wonderful."

"Really?" Looking back at the scales to see the number for himself, his breath caught in his throat when he saw what it said. "109. It... Two... I did it. Sammy I did it."

"I knew you could do it," said Sam, helping Dean down from the scales, before throwing his arms around him and squeezing him as tightly as he dared. "You're amazing Dean."

A tear slid down Dean's cheek as he wrapped his trembling arms around his brother. "I-I can do this."

"I know you can," Sam whispered back, giving him one last squeeze, before he let him go. Turning to the doctor, he blushed when he saw the other man staring at them with raised eyebrows. "What?"

"Nothing. It's understandable to be happy. And if anybody deserves it, it's you guys. I'm not ashamed to admit I was wrong and you two were right."

Dean still seemed to be in shock as he ran one hand down his thin, skeletal body as if trying to feel if the two pounds had made a difference, but of course he was just as skinny as before. "I did it." With a smile, he put his jackets and Sam's hoodie back on, before putting his boots on.

Sam took his notebook from the desk and turned to the back to write the  **'+ _2_  =  _109_ '** underneath the  **'+ _0.5 = 107'_** from the previous appointment. After writing it down, he turned to Dr Morgan with his hand held out. "Thanks."

"Just doing my job," he said, and turned to shake Dean's hand. "Let's hope your next appointment shows another weight gain. You're still 60-70 pounds underweight, but any weight on is a step in the right direction. Keep doing what you're doing and I promise I'll stop talking about the centre."

"Deal. Thanks doc." After shaking the man's hand, Dean turned to Sam, who threw one arm around his shoulders and turned to the door.

"Hey, why don't we go get some ice cream."

Dean stopped smiling and looked up at him with fear in his eyes. He was about to say no, but Sam spoke again.

"I'll tell you what... How about I go in and ask for two to take away. I'll get you a child's portion, how about that? You won't have to be in a crowded place and you don't have to force yourself to eat a big portion. Come on, we need to celebrate."

Seeing the excitement and happiness on Sam's face, Dean smiled again and finally nodded. "Okay."

* * *

Dean was sitting in the car outside the ice cream store, waiting for Sam to come out. He was sitting slouched in the seat, bundled up in all the layers, trying to make himself invisible to the people passing outside.

Finally, Sam came out of the store, and climbed into the driver's seat. He handed Dean the plastic spoon and the strawberry ice cream that had been placed in a plastic bowl in-case Dean wasn't up to eating it all. "There we go," he said, licking his own ice cream so it didn't melt while he drove to the park down the street.

When Sam came to a stop beside the park, Dean frowned in confusion and turned to his brother. "What are we doing?"

"Eating ice cream," Sam told him, and reached over to turn some music on, turning AC/DC up loud. "I thought it'd be nice to have a bit of scenery while we eat. Come on, we're supposed to be celebrating here."

Picking up the spoon in a trembling hand, Dean nodded to himself and ate a small spoonful of the child's portion of ice cream. He frowned in confusion when he started crunching on something. "What the hell," he muttered, digging through the ice cream until he found the M&M's that had been placed in it.

"So you found the surprise then," said Sam, wiping the ice cream from his chin. "I thought you deserved a treat for doing well."

"I'm not actually a child you know," Dean told him, eating another spoonful of his ice cream. As he ate, he nodded along to the song that was playing on the radio, which was a favourite of his. He raised his eyebrows when he saw Sam was watching him. "What? Have I got it on my face?"

"No. I've never been more proud of you. Two pounds is like... It might not be much to anybody else, but for you it's a big accomplishment."

A tiny smile crossed Dean's thin face as he stared down at his melting ice cream, the spoonful in his hand forgotten. "I'm proud too," he whispered in an emotion-filled voice. "I know it's only one step up a high mountain and there's a million more to go, but..."

"But what?"

Dean shrugged, and gave up on the half-eaten ice cream, and put the spoon down. "What if I get halfway up... and fall back down again?"

"Well, Bobby and I will be right there to catch you when you fall," Sam told him, placing one hand over Dean's, and squeezing it gently. "And pick you back up again."

**TBC**


	22. Chapter 22

Five nights after his hospital appointment, Dean was laying in his bed, tossing and turning, trying to escape the dreams that had plagued him since their father's death. Night after night, yellow eyes and his father's face mocked and tormented him, as he yet again found himself face to face with the yellow-eyed demon, its eerie eyes staring straight into the deepest corners of Dean's mind as he taunted him.

 ***'** _You know, you fight and you fight for this family, but the truth is they don't need you._ _Sam, he's clearly John's favourite. Even when they fight, it's more concern than he's ever shown you.' *****_

Dean flinched and cried out in his sleep, as those yellow orbs changed to the brown ones of his dad. The familiar face sneered hatefully at him as it got closer, the dream changing from memory to nightmare like it did every night.

 _ ***** 'This is your fault. You should be dead, not me. You deserve to die. You wonder why everyone you love always leaves you? Just take a look in the mirror. You're worthless, Dean. Always have been... always will be.'  
John was inches from Dean's face, sneering, eyes blazing savagely as they changed back to yellow. 'Your dad was almost happy when_  _he died. Being in hell is a lot better than being around you._   _They never loved you_ ,  _neither does your precious Sammy. Sam was always your mom and dads favourite. You... you they put up with._ _They don't need you. Bobby pities you, but deep down, he wishes you were dead too.'_ *****

Tear streamed down Dean's cheeks as he struggled to wake up, his breathing hitched as he fought to get out of the dreams claws, and wake up in the real world.

 ***'** _It should be you here,'_   _Sneered the demon, as John stepped away from him, flames licking over his face as the eyes faded back to brown._   _'You should've died. You should be here... Not me.' *****_

Dean shot up in bed with a gasp as John burst into flames and the room turned into hell. "No." He looked around the room with wide watery eyes to make sure he was out of the dream and back in his bedroom at Bobby's. Sam was sleeping peacefully in the next bed, unaware of Dean panting as he tried to get control of his emotions, the dream fading into the background, but the hateful words still ringing in his ears.

Running his thin hands through his hair, Dean threw the covers from the bed. He quietly climbed out of bed, quickly left the room and tiptoed downstairs. Quietly opening the front door, he slipped outside and walked over to the Impala. Sitting on the hood of his car, Dean settled his feet on the bumper and held his head in his hands.

"I-I don't deserve to d-die," he whispered, before staring up at the stars. "Sammy and B-Bobby don't hate me." He shook his head, as if he was trying to convince himself, and wrapped his arms around his skinny body and curled up, almost as if he was trying to protect himself from something.

Since he didn't wear Sam's hoodie for bed, he was just wearing his sweatpants and a t-shirt, but he didn't seem to notice the cold weather, even though he was trembling violently and his teeth were chattering together while he watched the stars twinkling in the sky.

 _"They don't need you... Not like you need them."_ The voice was so loud and clear, it sounded as if someone was standing beside him, whispering into his ear. He frowned, and looked around Bobby's yard, but when he didn't see anybody there, he covered his ears to get rid of the voice.

A sob ripped from his throat, and he tightened his arms around his body almost as if he was trying to comfort himself. "I'm sorry I'm not the son you wanted me to be. I'm sorry I'm such a screw up and a disappointment," he whispered to the stars, rubbing his chest, which had ached all day. Sitting outside in the freezing cold wasn't going to help, but he just needed to get away from his bed and the nightmares that plagued him every night.

No matter how many times his family told him that it wasn't his fault and he shouldn't blame himself, he had a hard time separating what was reality and nightmare, between the truth that Sam and Bobby told him, and the lies that the demon tormented him with.

Trembling from the freezing weather and the sobs that racked his body, Dean continued to sit on the hood of the Impala until the morning light shone through the clouds.

* * *

The next day Dean felt like crap, the morning started with him jumping out of bed and running to the bathroom. He crashed to his knees in-front of the toilet and vomit exploded from his mouth as soon as he doubled over.

Dean's hands clenched the edge of the toilet and he took large gulps of air that almost choked him while he continued to throw up the little amount of food he had managed to eat in the past two or three days.

His throat burned when the vomit came out of his mouth, but there was yet another round still to come when the sick feeling returned moments later, more violent than the last, making him cry out in pain and grip his stomach tightly with the one hand not still clenched onto the bowl.

After throwing up once more, his body drained of energy, Dean curled up on the floor in-front of the toilet, and laid his ashen face against the rim, gasping for breath. His stomach heaved again, this time nothing came out, but a whimper of pain when he felt like he was trying to wretch up his organs.

"Sonofabitch," he moaned, one thin hand rubbing his stomach as he choked and gasped, sending the muscles in his throat convulsing. When he finally finished, Dean stood up shakily and flushed the toilet, before walking over to the sink to wash his face. He looked up into his reflection and grimaced when he saw the thin skeletal image staring back at him. Only the flushed cheeks added colour to his otherwise deathly pale face, the eyes staring back at him were the eyes of a haunted man.

"Ugh. You look terrible, dude," he rasped, looking up at the picture that was still stuck to the mirror. A sudden cough caught him off guard and he doubled over, almost hitting his head on the edge of the sink, his left hand clutching his chest while he coughed his lungs out.

After the coughing fit ended, Dean adjusted his clothes and walked over to open the door to go downstairs. Entering the kitchen, he saw Bobby standing at the oven, cooking breakfast. "Hey Bobby."

"Hey, What was all that about in the bathroom?"

"What are you talking about?" asked Dean, slowly making his way to sit down at the table.

"Ya know what I'm talking about. I heard ya throwing up when I passed by the bathroom."

"Oh, it was nothing. I just didn't feel too good."

Bobby turned from the pancakes and glared over at Dean, holding the spatula in one hand. "Do I look like I was born yesterday?"

"Not unless you age at the speed of light," said Dean, placing his trembling arms on the table and laying his pounding head over them. "Where's Sam?"

"Nevermind that. Have ya got something ya need to tell me?"

"Not really, no. Is there any coffee going?" he asked Bobby, who was still standing there, glaring at him. "What?"

"Ya know what."

"I didn't make myself sick, if that's what you're asking. I've felt a bit sick the past two days, but today I feel like I've been splattered by a steamroller."

Bobby rolled his eyes, but didn't say anything about the thinness of Dean's body looked as if he  _had_  been run over by a steamroller. "Ya better not be lying to me," he muttered, turning back to the breakfast.

Dean groaned in misery and closed his eyes. By the time breakfast was ready, he had already fallen back to sleep.

* * *

Later, Dean was bundled up in all the blankets and covers they could find, but he was still shivering and shaking so violently that Sam could feel the vibrations from the couch he was leaning against as he watched the movie that was playing on the TV.

"Dean, are you feeling alright?" asked a worried Sam, turning around and using one hand to check his temperature, flinching when he felt the heat. "You're burning up."

"I..." Dean started, but was cut off by a violent sneezing fit that almost had him falling off the couch and onto Sam. "Het- _ktchsh_ -CHUH! Huhh… _PTSHCH_!  _Hptch_ -shuh! Huh- _ETSHCHSH_!"

"Wow. Bless you. I think you've caught a cold or something," said Sam, rushing over to the first-aid kit to get out the thermometer. "Have you been wearing plenty of layers? You know how vulnerable you are right now." Placing the thermometer into his mouth, Sam waited for it to beep. "And you know how bad you get even with a simple cold... and with how sick you are already, it'll probably hit you a lot more violently than it normally would."

"T-Thanks Dr Winchester," Dean muttered, chattering teeth clinking against the thermometer in his mouth as he wiped his nose with the tissue Sam handed to him.

Bobby was watching the brothers with a guilty expression. Dean had tried telling him that morning how bad he felt and he just thought he was being sick on purpose despite the talks and progress they had made recently.

When the beep came, Sam took out the thermometer and checked the number, sighing when he saw what it said. "Oh no. 101. We need to get that down or Dean will be terrorising the neighbourhood with his weirdness."

"What are ya talking about?" asked a confused Bobby with a frown.

"Dean. He goes crazy when his temperature gets too high."

"D-Dude, I'm not th-that bad."

"You're not huh? Dean, the last time you had a high fever you put your underwear on the outside of your jeans, tied the arms of my black hoodie around your neck like a cape and ran around telling everyone you were Batman and was there to save the day. Then you jumped off the roof thinking you could fly and ended up in the hospital with a broken leg, your collarbone cracked in two, a broken arm, and a fractured skull. The time before that you went up to this really short guy with a moustache, held up a mushroom and just started yelling 'GROW MARIO! GROW!' Then you picked up this flower and told him to use his fire power to battle the army of evil green turtles," he said, before rushing back out of the room to get a bowl of water and some painkillers.

Bobby started laughing at the image Sam was describing, only Dean could go that crazy while sick. When Dean started glaring at him, it just made him laugh harder.

When he came back into the room, Sam made sure Dean was still covered up, and then passed him the meds and dipped the cloth into the water to gently wipe Dean's face with it. "There we go. How does that feel?"

With a sniffle, Dean snuggled into the covers warmth and shrugged, looking miserable.

"It'll be alright. Bobby and I will take care of you until you feel better."

"Oh joy. I-I'll try to g-get excited later," Dean whispered when a violent shudder racked his body.

"Hopefully you'll be able to keep something down later otherwise you'll end up back to where you started. Crap. I just had a thought."

"S-Should I call an ambulance? Y-You m-might give yourself a concussion."

Sam mock-glared at him. "Haha. Very funny. If you can't keep anything down, what about anti-depressants? Will they still work?" he asked Bobby, looking worried.

Bobby shrugged. "I have no idea. We better call his doctor or something."

"But what if he wants us to take Dean in for a few days?"

"NO!" Dean yelled, struggling to sit up. "I'm not... NO!"

Sam placed his hands on Dean's shoulders and gently lowered him back down. "Nobody will take you back to hospital. We'll do our best to look after you here, okay? I'll check on my laptop soon, but we need to give you plenty of fluids so you don't dehydrate."

Dean settled back on the couch, and coughed weakly, using one sleeve to wipe his nose. "K-Kay," he whispered through chattering teeth as he pulled the covers up to his chin.

"You'll be okay, big brother. Ooh ooh." Getting up again, he rushed upstairs to get some more things to keep Dean warm. Two minutes later, he came back downstairs with his arms bundled with clothes.

Dean and Bobby were staring at the younger Winchester as he walked into the room armed with enough clothes to clothe an army.

"What are all those for?" asked a shocked Bobby. "Have ya got fifteen imaginary friends we don't know about?"

Sam smiled and knelt in-front of the couch, placing the clothes in a pile beside him. "Here," he said, holding out a thick sweater to Dean, who was laying there looking at him. "If you don't put it on, I'll treat you like a child and dress you myself."

With an eye-roll, Dean slowly sat up with Sam's help and carefully dressed himself in the warm clothing. His eyes went even wider when Sam held another out to him. "Sam, are y-you trying t-to cook me or what?"

"I'm trying to make sure you don't get sicker than you already are. So put it on, or I'll get Bobby to sit you on his knee and then I'll dress you and take pictures to put up all over Facebook."

"Oh for crying out loud." With a scowl, Dean snatched the item of clothing and put it on along with the dark blue hoodie that Sam was holding up. "Sam, I'm not dying, y-you know," he told Sam, who huffed and puffed as if Dean was at deaths door.

After putting another pair of sweatpants on, Sam took out a thick pair of thermal socks and pulled the covers back to expose Dean's feet.

"Sam, w-what the he-hell are you doing?" asked Dean, reaching over to cover his cold feet back up, but Sam started tickling his feet, making him laugh and kick out at him. "S-Stop."

"Sorry. I can't hear you," laughed Sam, tickling the other foot. He started grinning when Dean started laughing uncontrollably and trying to escape from the ticklish feeling. "What did you say?"

"S-S-S-S..." Twisting and turning, and kicking his feet, Dean continued to laugh even though it hurt his throat and his stomach from laughing so hard.

Sam laughed with him and Bobby shook his head, smiling in amusement. After spending a few funny minutes laughing and acting like children, the mood became serious when Dean suddenly started coughing violently.

"WHOA!" yelled Sam, helping Dean turn over onto his side to gently rub soothing circles on his heaving back. His heart sank when he could still feel the pebbled bones of Dean's spine even through all the layers. He tried not to think about that and focused on trying to help his brother. "It's alright, Dean. I've got you."

Dean curled up into himself and coughed into the crook of one arm, and held onto Sam's shirt with the other. The coughs racked his body, tearing him up from the inside as he doubled over, choking and spluttering around whatever his lungs were trying to dislodge.

Sam took his hand from Dean's back for a second to grab a handful of tissues from the table, which was littered with enough sick items to supply a pharmacy. "Here."

Dean opened his eyes to see the white tissue in his field of vision, and Sam's worried face. He choked as he felt something rise to his throat, and Sam's warm, comforting hand rubbing soothing circles against his back.

"Spit," Sam said softly, and Dean complied, coughing one more time before spitting the yellowish, greenish glob of goo into the tissue.

"Ugh. Hurts," he whispered, blinking up at Sam.

"I know." Sam rubbed at Dean's back again, trying to soothe away the aches deep inside his thin body. When Dean was ready, Sam helped him settle back against the mountain of pillows again, and carefully grabbed his feet and pulled the thick socks over them. After covering him back up, Sam grabbed the cough syrup and the little cup to pour him some medicine.

Rubbing his chest with his eyes closed, Dean jumped in surprise when the couch dipped beside him. He opened his eyes to see Sam holding out a medicine cup of pinkish liquid.

"Hey, sit up so you can take this," he said, sliding his other hand behind Dean's back and urging him upright.

Dean groaned, and reluctantly cuddled up against Sam's side to take the mouthful of cough syrup. After drinking the liquid, Sam arranged the pillows behind him so he would be able to lay more comfortably.

Dean looked up at Sam, the only colour on his ashen face were the red nose, flushed cheeks and the freckles that covered his cheeks and nose, looking so dark that it looked as if a child had played join the dots on his face with a brown marker. He snuffled, and wiped his congested nose with a handful of tissues, his messy hair was sticking up in all directions, making him look like a sick four year old.

"Can I get you anything? How about some chicken soup? That's supposed to help with a cold. Do you think you can keep some soup down? Or do you want to try later?"

The sick Winchester thought for several seconds, before shrugging with a grimace. "T-Try some s-soup," he whispered, shivering violently even with all the layers covering him.

"Okie dokie. I'll be back in a minute," said Sam, leaving the wet cloth on Dean's forehead and getting up. "I'll make some hot tea too, that should help."

"Tea? Since when do we have tea?" asked Bobby, his nose scrunched up in disgust.

"I bought some this morning because I noticed that Dean was getting sniffly yesterday. I read that if you drink hot tea with honey, it'll help when you have a cold."

"S-Sniffly? Is that even a word?" asked Dean with raised eyebrows.

Sam shrugged, ruffling Dean's hair. "I'll be back in a minute. Bobby, look after Rudolph here."

"Don't call me that," said Dean as he snuggled even further down into the covers. He scrunched his red nose up, and sneezed several times into the bunch of tissues he was holding in his hands.

Sharing a look with Bobby, Sam left the two alone and walked into the kitchen to get the items that he hoped would help his sick sibling.

"What do ya want to watch?" asked Bobby, grabbing the remote and flicking through the channels to find something that Dean would like.

"D-Don't care," whispered Dean, closing his eyes weakly with a groan. Usually, a cold or even the flu wouldn't bother him, but this time, since he was already so skinny and weak, it knocked him straight on his ass, and he felt like he was dying.

When Kermit the frog suddenly appeared on the screen, Dean started waving his arm at the TV. "Ooh. The mu-muppets. Can we watch the muppets?" he asked Bobby, who sighed and put the remote down. "I u-used to love the muppets. D-Do you watch the muppets?"

"Yeah. I'm watching one right now," said Bobby with a straight face, staring at Dean.

Dean laughed, and grimaced when his chest started hurting. "Ugh. F-Feel like crap."

When Sam came back into the room he was carrying a tray with the tea and soup. "Here we go," he said, placing the tea beside the tissues and medicines.

Sam gently placed the tray over Dean's lap, making sure he didn't burn Dean or spill any of it over the blankets. "It's only half full, so try to eat as much as you can. The bucket is beside the couch in-case you need it, okay? If you need anything else, ask me or Bobby."

Dean raised his eyebrows at the mother henning, and grabbed the spoon in one slightly trembling hand. Taking a deep breath, he brought the spoon up to his mouth to take a sip. He dropped the spoon back into the bowl and scrunched his eyes closed for several seconds, taking slow deep breaths to make sure he wasn't going to bring it back up again.

Sam was watching him closely to make sure he was okay, and smiled when Dean had a second mouthful without showing any signs of sickness. "Is it alright? I can make you something else if it's not."

"No. It's good," said Dean, forcing a smile onto his face. He settled back against the huge mountain of pillows and relaxed as he slowly ate a few mouthfuls of the soup, before putting the spoon back into the bowl. "I-I'm done."

Sam peered into the bowl to see that Dean had only managed to eat half of what he had made him, but at least he had eaten some of it even though he was sick. "You did good. Are you ready to try your anti-depressant?"

"N-Not yet. Later."

"Okay. We'll see if you can keep the soup down before you take it. Can I get you anything else?"

"No, I'm f-fine," he said, turning his head in the direction of the TV where Animal was randomly banging on the drums, making him laugh. "That guy's crazy."

"I know someone like that," said Sam, watching him fondly.

Dean turned to glare at Sam, who grinned at him. The glaring didn't last long when Dean suddenly started having a sneezing fit into the new bunch of tissues.

"Whoa. Are you sure I can't get you anything?"

"N-No. I'm fine," said Dean with a sniffle, wiping his congested, red nose. He groaned and rubbed his aching chest with his free hand, and shifted to get more comfortable.

Sam watched him with a sad expression. "I wish I could do something to help make you feel better."

"S-Sammy, it's only a cold... I think. I'm not o-on my deathbed, you know."

"I know, but with you already being so sick, it's much worse than it normally would be."

Bobby was watching Sam look after Dean, feeling guilty. "I think ya caught the cold from me when I had the sneezes a couple of days ago. I'm sorry I didn't believe ya this morning, son."

"It's okay."

"No it's not. Ya told me ya didn't feel well, and I should've listened."

"It's nobody's fault," said Sam, gently wiping Dean's hot face. "Just... Get better, okay? I don't just mean from the cold. I can't lose you."

"I'll be b-better before y-you know it," Dean assured him with a smile.

Sam nodded, and turned slightly to discreetly wipe his tears with the cloth he was using. "Why don't you get some rest, huh? You look exhausted. I'll wake you in an hour to take your pill."

Dean snuggled into the pillows and the warmth of the covers. "K-Kay," he sighed weakly. He always seemed to be tired, but the nightmares he had nightly made him reluctant to go to sleep.

"I'll be right here," Sam told him in a quiet voice, so only Dean could hear him as he adjusted the blankets so he didn't get cold.

"S-Stop fussing," whispered Dean, his eyelids fluttering closed, his body going limp as he gave into sleep.

"No." Sam smiled and sat down in-front of the couch, facing Dean so he could take care of him. The wet cloth wiped over the dark freckles that stood out clearly on his congested nose which made snuffly noises as he breathed, the protruding cheekbones looked and felt as if he had half a golf ball under his skin, and the black marks under his eyes made him look like Beetlejuice.

He looked so young and sick right now, it was heartbreaking. Sam sniffled, and wiped the last remaining tears with his free hand.

"He'll be alright, Sam," said Bobby in a quiet voice so he didn't wake Dean up. "That kid is the strongest person I know."

Sam didn't answer, but continued watching Dean. "I'll be right here with you until you get better... and even when you do recover, I'll still be here."

* * *

Later that day, Dean was now awake, and Sam was once again fussing over him. Bobby was watching them in amusement while Sam checked Dean's temperature and gave him more medication, before tucking him in again to make sure he was warm enough.

Dean was slumped against the pillows with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face as he was forced to endure the mother henning. So far he had been able to keep the soup down so Sam had given him his pill after he woke up.

"Are you hungry? Do you want some more tea? Are you warm enough?" Sam rambled worriedly, placing the back of his hand against Dean's forehead. "You're still really hot."

"Sammy, I swear t-to god if you don't quit it, I-I'm going to beat you to death with th-that cup," Dean threatened, pointing at the item on the little table.

"I'm just doing my job, so be quiet or I'll ask Bobby to get that frozen chicken out of the kitchen."

"I think we ate that ages ago," said Bobby, staring at Sam. "So unless we're going to get haunted by a poultrygeist, I doubt he's got anything to worry about."

"Isn't that an e-episode of Beetlejuice?" Dean suddenly asked them, making them stare at him as if he had gone mad. "What? It w-was. T-The ghost with the most got ha-haunted by a chicken."

"Riiiiiiight. Like that happens every day."

Dean laughed, still rubbing at his aching chest. "It w-was hilarious. Especially when he couldn't g-get rid of the chicken and he said 'This chicken is tough. Bet he's airline f-food in his spare time'," he said, before he burst out laughing again.

Sam and Bobby raised their eyebrows and turned to look at each other with identical expressions. "How old is he again?" asked Bobby, his lips twitching as he struggled not to laugh with Dean.

"But the c-chicken wouldn't go away... S-So he nearly drove Beetlejuice insane b-because he couldn't get any sl-sleep..." he trailed off, the smile dropping from his face.

"Are you alright?"

Dean forced the smile back onto his face and nodded. "Y-Yeah. I'm awe..." He trailed off and sucked in a gulp of air, a sharp pain in his chest was his only warning before he started violently coughing.

Sam shot up when Dean suddenly curled up into himself, and started coughing into the crook of one arm. "Take it easy," he soothed, rubbing circles around Dean's back to help him through it. "I've got you."

With Dean on his side, Sam moved his other arm so he could also rub circles on Dean's chest in the same rhythm. "Try to breathe in slowly, Dean. Not too deep, okay? That's it," he coached, trying to ignore the fact that he could feel Dean's individual ribs with his fingers as he continued with the soothing circles.

Dean tried to concentrate on Sam's voice and do what he was telling him to. After several minutes, the band around his chest loosened a little and the coughing finally came to a stop.

Bobby grabbed the empty glass and carried it into the kitchen to fill it up with some water, so Dean could have a drink.

Sam placed his arm under Dean's back, trying not to wince when the sharp shoulder blades dug into his arm, and sat him up to lean against him with his free hand, and helped him take the small cup of cough syrup.

"There we go," soothed Sam, putting the medicine cup back onto the small table to take the glass of water from Bobby. "Thanks."

"Is he alright?" asked a worried Bobby, watching Sam help Dean have a drink to soothe his sore throat and aching chest.

When Dean turned away, Sam handed the glass back to Bobby, who was standing there with a concerned expression. "He'll be okay," Sam told him with a shaky smile. He gently settled Dean back against the pillows and placed his hand on his face again, and when he felt the heat, Sam reached over for the cloth and dipped it in the water.

Dean sighed and leaned into the hand that was on his face. "T-That feels nice," he whispered in a croaky voice that the other two men could barely hear.

"It's a few hours since you last ate. Do you want some more soup? Or do you want to try some toast?"

"Er..." Dean was silent for several seconds before answering. "S-Soup."

"Okay. There's still plenty left from earlier, I'll go and heat it up. I'll be back in a few minutes, alright? Do you need anything else?"

"N-No." When he heard shuffling beside him, he opened his eyes, and jumped in surprise when he saw Bobby still standing there watching him. "What?"

"Can I get ya anything?"

"I-I'm fine Bobby. You can relax, you k-know."

Bobby nodded, and did what Dean asked. He grabbed the remote and started flicking through the channels for something to watch, and stopped when he saw a familiar movie.

Dean turned to watch whatever Bobby had put on the TV, and had to smile when he saw John Wayne on the screen. "Awesome. I love Hondo," he croaked weakly, shifting carefully onto his side and laying against the bunch of pillows to watch one of his favourites.

He didn't look away from the movie until Sam walked into the room carrying a bowl of soup, which he placed carefully on Dean's knee.

**TBC**


	23. Chapter 23

Two days later, Dean was feeling much worse than he did a few days ago, it no longer felt like a normal cold. He was laying on the couch bundled up in plenty of layers, with Sam sitting next to him.

As Bobby flicked through the channels, Dean asked him to stop when he saw a familiar movie he hadn't seen for ages. "Le-Leave that on."

"Pet Sematary?" Sam and Bobby turned to stare at him with raised eyebrows. "Are you serious?"

"Am I w-wearing a party h-hat?"

"No."

"Then I'm s-serious," said Dean, shifting as he tried to get comfortable. He winced when a searing pain shot through his chest every time he breathed, and he rubbed at his chest in a pointless attempt to ease the tightness and hopefully avoid the coughing that had been getting worse over the past couple of days.

Dean was about to ask Sam to pass him the glass of water, but a wet hacking cough escaped him instead. He doubled over as the deep coughs shook his body while he fought to breathe.

Sam immediately jumped up and started to rub circles on his back and help him through it. "Hey, it's okay," he soothed, grimacing at the wheezing sounds coming from his brother. "I've got you." He grabbed a bunch of tissues and held them in-front of Dean so he could spit into it.

By the time the coughing fit ended, and he got his breathing back under control, Dean was laying on his side with one hand cradling his ribs and his face in the crook of one arm. When he was sure he didn't cough his lungs up along with the yellow/green mucus, he slowly raised his head, and looked up at a worried Sam and Bobby.

"Are you alright?"

"Y-Yeah," Dean whispered, closing his eyes with a grimace of pain. After taking a few deep breaths, he got himself under control and settled back against the pillows with Sam's help. "Are you... putting it back on?"

"What? Pet sematary? Are you sure that's a good idea? I mean, with... It's not the best time to watch something like that. And..." He trailed off when he saw the glare Dean was trying to give him.

"I-I'm fine. I've seen that m-movie a hundred times... it's never b-bothered me before."

"Yeah, but Dad's never died before," Sam shot back, and immediately regretted it when Dean's face fell. "I'm sorry."

"Whatever. P-Put it back on."

* * *

As they watched Pet Sematary, Sam and Bobby were worried about Dean watching it, but the stubborn older Winchester kept insisting that he was okay.

At first Dean was doing okay, but during one particular conversation between Louis Creed and Jud Crandall, he seemed to zone out, staring blankly at the screen.

_"Sometimes, dead is better."_

Dean didn't seem to be blinking as those words were spoken, his mind going back to a few months before. He didn't notice the one single tear that slipped down his cheek silently while similar words kept repeating themselves in his head.

_"What's dead should stay dead. I was dead, I should've stayed dead."_

Dean flinched slightly, and continued staring at the TV, but instead of the two men sitting at the table, it was images of himself and Sam along with memories of the demon possessing his dad, voices overlapping each other, almost like a personal clip show of his own worthless life.

_"They don't need you. Sam– he's clearly John's favourite. Dad's dead because of me. I never should have come back, Sam. It wasn't natural. And now look what's come of it. I was dead. And I should have stayed dead... What's dead should stay dead._   
_Sometimes, dead is better. I should've stayed dead."_

Dean gasped and jerked as if he had woken from a dream, startling Sam who looked over at him. He didn't seem to notice his brother looking at him as Jud Crandall repeated those words...

_"Sometimes, dead is better."_

"Dean? Are you alright?" asked Sam, reaching over to place his hand on Dean's arm. When Dean still didn't answer, he reached over and grabbed the remote. He really wasn't sure if watching this was a great idea right now especially with Dean's current mental state. "Do you want me to turn this off?"

Dean finally blinked and looked at Sam. "I..." He stopped and took a deep breath, shaking his head. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"If he saw a ghost, he'd be giving it the evils, not looking as if someone set the car on fire."

"It's a figure of speech... and for a normal person, seeing a ghost wouldn't be... normal," Sam finished lamely, a frown crossing his face. "Nevermind."

"Actually, right now he looks about as lively as a ghost."

"I... I'm alright... I'm always alright."

Sam sighed at the answer, and rolled his eyes so hard it looked as though he was trying to see what was behind him without turning around.

"Sam, if ya don't quit rolling yer eyes, they'll end up getting stuck up there, and yer going to end up spending the rest of yer life doing a permanent impression of the Undertaker."

* * *

As the movie progressed, Sam continued shooting glances at Dean. He wasn't sure if he was more concerned about Dean watching this right now, or Dean's breathing which seemed to have gotten worse as the day went on.

Even though Dean wouldn't admit it, it was obvious he really wasn't feeling well, his breathing sounded ragged and wheezy, and each round of coughing left him exhausted and gasping for breath in Sam's arms.

When Dean suddenly sniffled, Sam's head shot around so fast, Bobby was worried he would have whiplash.

"Dean?"

Dean blinked slowly as if coming out of a trance, and shuddered, not looking away from the screen. "What?"

"Are you alright?"

"Do... Do you..."

"Do I what?"

Dean was silent for several seconds as he watched Gage Creed come back from the dead a demonic shadow of his former self. "Do you ever wish you could bring someone back... you know... without selling your soul or them going on a deranged murderous rampage?"

"From the dead?" he asked Dean, who nodded. It didn't take a genius to work out why Dean was asking this question, but Sam didn't know how to answer it. After seriously thinking about it for a few minutes, Sam turned back to Dean. "I would for you... even if you went deranged."

A tiny smile crossed Dean's face for a second, before fading again. He snuggled into the covers, ignoring Sam and Bobby who were watching him more than the movie.

It was after Pet sematary had ended when Dean felt the familiar sensation in his chest. He sucked in a deep breath to steady himself, but immediately regretted it when it burned like fire and set off yet another painful round of coughing that left him hanging off the couch and grabbing onto Sam's arms tightly as his brother eased him through it. The stabbing pain in his back seemed to be in sync with a beating heart, until he realised it wasn't completely due to his aching lungs; it was Sam gently thumping his back in an attempt to help him cough up what felt like his whole digestive system.

"It's okay big brother. I've got you," whispered Sam, trying his best to support him. When the coughing fit finally ended, Sam grabbed a handful of tissues so he could spit into them and then handed him a glass of water which Dean took in his trembling hands gratefully.

"Thanks," Dean croaked in a voice that sounded as if he had been swallowing razor blades. He raised the glass to his dry lips, careful to only take a few sips, grimacing when the cold water slid down his burning throat.

After taking the glass off Dean, Sam gently helped him lay back down again. "How are you feeling?" he asked, running his fingers through Dean's sweat-soaked hair and across his forehead. He frowned in concern when he felt the heat coming off him. "You're even hotter than before."

"T-Thanks," whispered Dean with a tiny smirk, making Sam roll his eyes again as he dipped the cloth into the bowl of water to help cool him down.

"Shut up, jerk."

"B-B-Bish," he whispered, moaning in pain when he shifted, causing pains to shoot across his ribs. "Sonofa..."

"Shh. It's going to be alright."

Dean's face suddenly turned a shade whiter, and he shot up and turned his body to the side just in time to avoid throwing up all over himself.

"Whoa," Sam exclaimed, jumping away from the line of fire as Dean did his Exorcist impression. He quickly grabbed the bucket and held it in-front of Dean, and he didn't know exactly what to do other than sit there, rubbing his back gently, and making soothing noises in his ear in an attempt to comfort him. "It's alright."

Dean groaned as he continued throwing up, grimacing in pain, his body quivering. Since he was sick, he had been eating even less than normal and it didn't take him long to empty his stomach, but he continued dry-heaving.

He whimpered in pain, and tightened his grip on his stomach, which felt as if he had an alien inside him struggling to get out. Dean had no idea how long he hung there, his stomach twisting and his shoulders shaking, but when he finally finished, his head lolled limply forward, and he would have fallen into the sick-splattered bowl if Bobby hadn't used his quick reflexes and grabbed him.

"Take it easy son," he soothed, gently helping Dean to settle back against the pillows. Bobby gave him the glass of water to get rid of the taste of sick in his mouth. "Take a sip and spit it out."

Dean did what Bobby told him, and tried to take another sip, but it felt as though he had been gargling glass, and sandpaper was being rubbed over the raw wounds.

Bobby took a few tissues and wiped Dean's mouth and chin, before grabbing the blankets to tuck around his thin, trembling body. "We've got ya. Yer going to be better in no time."

Sam came back in from the kitchen after disposing of the sick. "How are you feeling? Are you alright?" he asked Dean, who closed his eyes weakly. Sam shared a look with Bobby as he took his place in-front of the couch, and re-wet the cloth to try to get rid of the heat emanating from his sick sibling.

Sam looked back down toward Dean's skeletal face, over the fragile features, taking in the milk-pale skin and the dark freckles that littered his hollow cheeks. Sam had never seen his brother look so horrible, except for maybe when he was laying in the hospital bed after he was electrocuted. It was clear how much he was suffering, and it broke Sam's heart that he couldn't do anything to help him.

Dean shifted slightly, his face scrunched up and his breathing heavy. He was in too much pain and he felt so sick, it would be easier and quicker to list the things that didn't ache or hurt. 'Death warmed over' seemed like an understatement to how he was really feeling- he felt as if he had died, been resurrected and then died again. But there was no way he would ever admit to feeling that bad, so he forced a smile and pretended he didn't feel as bad as he did.

"I-I'm fine."

Sam frowned at the answer, and looked up at Bobby, who sighed and shook his head minutely, clearly indicating he didn't believe him either.

"You'll be okay. Try to get some sleep, okay? Bobby and I will take care of you."

"O-Oh joy," Dean rasped, wincing when another pain shot through his chest and up his back. He didn't want to sleep, but his eyelids slid shut almost against his will and it wasn't long before he was dozing fitfully, his sleep occasionally interrupted by the rattle in his chest. He was shaking and trembling so hard, the couch was vibrating.

As Dean slept, his breathing hitched every so often and Sam froze and braced himself each time, waiting for the cough that would follow and wake him up, but it never came, much to Sam's relief. Dean needed as much sleep as he could get.

* * *

Dean managed to sleep for several hours, before another coughing fit awoke him to full alertness, sending him from a dreamless sleep to fully awake in one wheeze and rattle.

"Whoa." Sam dropped the cloth that he was using to help get Dean's temperature down, and leaned over to support him. "It's alright," he soothed, not sure Dean could even hear him over the loud coughing. "Take it easy." He moved Dean so that he was laying in the crook of one arm, and rubbed his back with his free hand. Sam really hated seeing Dean like this, he would rather go see a clown than see his strong big brother this sick and weak.

Every time Dean coughed, Sam wondered whether this time it would be bad enough to take Dean to the hospital. The only thing that was stopping him from doing that was the fact that Dean seriously hated hospitals. But if he got too sick, then Sam was going to kidnap him and carry him there himself.

Dean curled further into himself, and clutched his arms to his stomach as if trying to hold in his organs, his already raw throat was burning again, his chest and back aching and his head was pounding. As he fought to gasp in enough air to support the coughs, he heard Sam trying to comfort him, but he was too busy coughing his lungs out to really make it out.

"It's okay. I've got you."

Dean tried to respond, but only managed a groan. Finally, the coughing fit subsided, leaving him panting and shaking in Sam's arms. "C-Crap," he wheezed, curling his fingers into Sam's shirt.

"Shh. It's okay," Sam repeated, trying to comfort him, before he tried to get him settled. But Dean didn't seem to want to cooperate and collapsed against Sam's chest, his blazing face coming to rest against Sam's much cooler neck, making him flinch at the heat scorching his skin. He frowned in confusion when Dean snuggled closer, and started nuzzling him.

"Dean, what-" Sam broke off when he remembered how weird he became when his fever got too high, and judging by the heat he felt, Dean's fever was definitely higher than it was before. He really hoped that Dean didn't think Sam was a 'hot chick' he had picked up in a bar because that would be awkward.

With another groan, Dean reached up and patted Sam's arm. "I-It's okay... d-daddy," he whispered, looking up at Sam with big, trusting green eyes that were glazed over with fever.

Sam swallowed the lump in his throat, and tightened his grip on him. He looked up at Bobby, and saw him staring down at Dean. "What are we going to do?"

"Please don't... h-hate me... da-daddy. I... I'm sorry."

"Oh god," Sam whispered, lowering his head until it fell on top of Dean's sweat-soaked hair. "There's no need to be sorry, Dean. There's nothing to be sorry for, you hear me?"

Usually when Dean's temperature got too high, he went crazy and loopy, and was hilarious without actually meaning to be, but right now he seemed to have regressed back to being a little boy.

"Let's get him settled, Sam," said Bobby in an emotion-filled voice as he reached over to stroke Dean's hair. "We need to get that fever down."

"Yeah. Just... just give me a minute," whispered Sam, holding his sick brother as tight as he dared for several seconds, before nodding shakily, and moving away slightly.

"Come on." Bobby put his hands carefully under Dean's arms and gently moved him so he was laying back on the couch again. "Where's the thermometer?"

"It's on the..." Sam trailed off when he looked down at the table/pharmacy, and blinked when he saw everything was there but the item they needed. "Where's it gone?"

"Nevermind. I'll go get the spare from the kitchen."

"No. No. No. You... you can't go over... there," said Dean, reaching for Bobby with a wild look in his eyes, making him look slightly crazy.

"Why?"

"Because... because... the h-horse... and... and wonder woman."

Bobby stood where he was for several seconds, staring at Dean. "Come again?"

Dean blinked in confusion, and looked up in the direction of Bobby, but his gaze was locked on something on his left. "F-Fight... Leprechaun and... and evil ma-magic unicorn. They... they're evil."

"Wonder woman and a horse are in a battle against an evil unicorn and a leprechaun?" asked an amused Bobby. "Now that's something I would pay to see."

"Oh great! He's lost his marbles. Bobby, go get the thermometer."

"I'm on it," he nodded, almost rushing out of the room.

Sam sat on the edge of the couch, and ran his fingers softly through Dean's soaked hair. "What am I going to do with you, huh?"

Dean didn't seem to hear Sam, instead the glazed green eyes of the sick Winchester were roaming the room as if following something that Sam couldn't see. His breathing hitched, and his body convulsed with a violent coughing fit that almost knocked Sam onto the floor. He cried out in pain as Sam quickly lifted him up so his head rested limply against him so he could help Dean through it.

"Try to breathe normally, Dean. Come on, keep your breathing nice and slow," Sam coached him, rubbing Dean's shaking back in soothing circles. His other hand cradled the back of Dean's head when it started to flop backwards, his fingers stroked through his hair, doing the only thing he could to help him.

Dean tried to breathe, but he seemed to be taking in a frighteningly small amount of air. His breath stuttered and hitched in his chest as his stomach rolled with the beginnings of panic.

"Come on Dean, take a breath in. That's it."

Dean struggled to tune everything out because he needed all his concentration focused on sucking in one painful breath after another. He was trying to keep the panic at bay so his heart wasn't racing in his chest, fighting against his lungs to take in air.

Finally, after ten painful minutes that seemed to last ten hours, the coughing fit came to an end, leaving Dean shaking and crying in Sam's arms. His breathing continued to hitch, each inhale ending with a heartbreaking whimper that Dean was too exhausted, and too sick to hide.

When Sam laid Dean back down, and covered him back up, he took the thermometer from Bobby and gently placed it in Dean's mouth between chattering teeth. "Try to stay still for a minute."

Dean tried to spit it out, not knowing what it was, but Sam kept telling him to leave it in, and eventually he did. When it beeped, Sam took it out and checked the reading. "Oh my god," he whispered when he saw it was much worse than it was. "105."

"No wonder he's gone a little mad."

"What do we do? Nothing we're giving him is working, the water isn't cooling him down. He can't keep anything down, what do we do?"

"Sam calm down."

"How the hell can I calm down?" asked Sam, looking down at Dean, who was staring up at the ceiling. It looked like he had trouble breathing as he sucked in air very slowly, and started gasping, each inhale ending with a wheeze. "There's only one thing to do... Hospital. He's going to hate me."

Bobby nodded. "I know. We've got no choice."

Sam gently took hold of Dean's trembling hand, and cradled it in both of his. "Hey Dean, we're taking you to the hospital, okay? I know you hate them, but you're really sick and I..."

"'K-Kay," Dean managed to get out, his eyes rolling back slightly. He was so out of it, he probably didn't even know what was going on, let alone what he agreed to.

"Okay?" repeated Sam in a voice higher than normal, and looked up at Bobby in shock. "He's agreed to go to hospital."

"Quick, where's the remote? Change to the weather channel."

Sam looked around the room in confusion, wondering why Bobby wanted to check the weather at a time like this. "Why?"

"Dean Winchester has agreed to go to hospital. I want to see if hell has frozen over," he said, making Sam smile. "Go get ready. I'll sort Dean out."

"What do you mean get ready? It's not fancy dress you know."

"Yeah, but yer in pyjamas. I doubt anyone will want to see that," he said, gesturing at Sam's bedtime clothes. "And sort the hair out, ya look like ya got electrocuted."

Sam stood up, but instead of going upstairs, he stayed there staring down at Dean, whose eyes roamed Bobby's living room, not landing on anything or anyone, before his eyelids started fluttering.

Bobby knelt in-front of Dean, and placed his hand on his cheek, flinching when he felt the heat. "Sam get a move on, he's not sweating anymore which means he's dehydrated, and it looks like he's having trouble staying conscious," he said, but Sam continued standing there, almost as if he was in shock.

"SAM! Dammit Sam," said Bobby, getting up and standing before Sam, grabbing him by the arms. "Look at me. Yer brother's going to be okay, now get up those stairs and get dressed. Now. He'll be fine."

"But what if... I don't... How do you know that?"

"I'm Bobby, I know everything. Now go on."

Sam nodded, and took off running upstairs, reluctantly leaving Bobby to help Dean.

"Come on son, let's get ya up." He took the covers off Dean, and stroked his thumb over the hot forehead until Dean acknowledged his presence by looking at him.

Dean slowly sat himself up, but the room span alarmingly as he moved, and it was only Bobby's hand behind his back that kept him from toppling back down to the pillows or the floor.

"I've got ya," said Bobby, wrapping his arms around Dean to slowly and carefully sit him up. When he had him upright, Bobby grabbed some blankets and wrapped him up in them. "There we go."

Bobby stood up and brought Dean up with him, being careful not to move too fast or too sudden. "That's it. Yer going to be okay." When Dean was standing, Bobby let him go for a second to get the bucket, but as soon as he let Dean go, he collapsed forward into him.

"Whoa," Bobby said, hugging him to his chest. Knowing that there was no way Dean would be walking out of here, Bobby adjusted him, so he could place one arm around his shoulders and the other under his knees, and lifted him up.

Dean's head flopped limply backwards, so Bobby adjusted him so his head came to rest on his shoulder, his hot face hidden against his neck, and his free arm and legs dangling loosely, giving him the appearance of a rag doll. He teared up when Dean shifted as close to him as he could, seeking comfort or warmth since his body was shivering uncontrollably. "It's alright son, shh. We're going to get ya some help. Just hang in there, okay?"

Before Dean could answer, Sam came running down the stairs, his hairbrush in his hand as he tried to brush the wild hair. He came to a sudden stop and dropped the brush, his eyes going wide in horror when he saw Bobby standing there, cradling Dean in his arms.

"Oh my god. Is he alright?" he asked, running over. "Do you want me to carry him?"

"No. I've got him. He only weighs just over 100 pounds, I can manage. I've carried sacks of potatoes that were heavier than him."

"Okay. Where's the car keys?" asked Sam, running into the hallway to get them out of his pocket. "Let's go. I'll get the bucket, Dean would kill us if he gets sick in his baby."

After picking up the bucket, Sam ran over to unlock the front door, and Bobby followed after him, carrying Dean. As he walked, he was careful not to jostle Dean too badly, and turned slightly as he walked out of the door so he didn't catch his legs on the doorway.

Sam ran over to unlock the back door, and between them, they manoeuvred Dean so he was laying across the backseat. When he was settled, Bobby slid into the seat with him, and pulled Dean against his chest until his head rested on his collarbone, and he could wrap his arms around him.

Sam shut the door, and ran around to the driver's side, and climbed behind the wheel. He sent the Impala surging forward, fishtailing out of the yard, and down the street.

Dean groaned, and started coughing. Luckily, this coughing fit wasn't as bad as the last one, but it left him limp, breathless and wheezing in Bobby's arms.

"Shh. It's alright. Yer going to be better soon," Bobby whispered into Dean's hair, as he continued doing the only thing he could do to comfort him and ease his pain.

Dean flinched suddenly, and turned to look out of the window. "Th-There's a gremlin... on the s-side of the car."

"Er... I know. But... er... he needed a lift, so Sam thought he'd give him a ride. I'll make sure he doesn't scratch the car, okay?"

Dean hmm'd and sniffled in response, and turned back to hide his face against Bobby's neck, seeking comfort against the cooler skin. The only sounds he was making were the whimpers and moans of pain, along with the wheezing and gasping as he struggled to breathe.

"Yer really not well, are ya son?" asked Bobby in a soft voice as he continued running his hand up and down Dean's bony back while he slumped, his body shaking against his chest.

"How is he?"

"He's not doing good Sam. Drive faster, it's like holding a damn furnace." Bobby frowned, and moved slightly to look down at Dean when his shaking became more violent. "Dean?"

Dean's eyes rolled back until they were showing all white, before his body arched against his, and he jerked violently.

"Dammit. Sam step on it NOW!" said Bobby, adjusting his hold on Dean while his body started jerking uncontrollably, racked by seizures.

"What's wrong?" asked a panicked Sam, putting his foot down, and speeding down the street.

"He's seizing."

"WHAT!" he yelled, looking back over at Bobby, jerking the wheel when he veered off the road slightly, narrowly missing a tree. "Is he alright?"

"Oh yeah, he's great. He's just practising some dance moves. I'm expecting him to get up and do the Irish jig in a minute," he said sarcastically, placing his right hand on Dean's shoulder to carefully move the struggling body onto its side so he was laying across his lap. He made sure Dean's head rested in the crook of one arm, and tried not to hold him too tightly.

"What do I do? Should I stop?" asked Sam, sounding like a child. He was glad he was the one driving because if Dean had started seizing in his arms, Sam wouldn't have known what to do and would have panicked even more than he already was.

"No. Keep going, we're almost there. The sooner we get him to the hospital, the better."

"But what if... what if he..."

"Sam, try to stay calm while yer driving. The last thing Dean needs is for us to get into a car accident. He's going to be alright, I promise. Have I ever lied to ya?"

"No," he whispered, taking deep breaths to calm himself down. Bobby was right, Dean needed him to get him to the hospital in one piece.

Bobby tried to keep calm on the outside as he reassured Sam, but inside he was anything but calm as Dean seized in his arms. He knew that Dean didn't get sick often, but when he did go down he went down hard, and when his fever climbed high enough, he could never hold anything down- including water, so he became dehydrated and suffered a rare seizure. This was unfortunately one of those times.

"It's alright son." When Dean almost crashed to the floor, Bobby tightened his grip around his chest, and pulled him against his body, keeping him tilted to the right so that he could breathe.

Bobby took a deep shuddering breath at the keening noise Dean started making as he jerked and writhed on his knee. He buried his face in the crook of Dean's hot neck, holding on for dear life so he didn't roll onto the floor. He kept one hand on Dean's face, and pried his jaw open with his thumb and finger, keeping his mouth open in-case he vomited. "I've got ya. Yer alright, do ya hear me?"

Dean's head suddenly snapped back, catching Bobby in the chin making him bite his tongue, but the older man didn't care, he didn't even feel it, he was more concerned about Dean. Tears threatened to shake loose as the force of Dean's seizure travelled up his arm.

"We're there," called Sam, pulling into the hospital parking lot, and slamming on the brakes in-front of the entrance. He opened the door and jumped out, screaming for help as he opened the back door, and knelt down to place his hand on his big brother's convulsing shoulder. "I'm here, Dean. I'm here. SOMEBODY HELP! I NEED HELP!"

Hearing the screams for help, two paramedics who were on their way to an ambulance to start their shift came running over with their equipment bag. "What have we got?"

"Help him. My brother's really sick, and he's seizing."

**TBC**


	24. Chapter 24

After the doctors and nurses took Dean away, Sam and Bobby had been sent to the waiting room to wait for the doctor to come out and talk to them.

That was three hours ago, and they still had not heard anything yet. Bobby was currently sitting in the corner, watching Sam pace a hole in the carpet as he did laps around the room.

"What the hell is taking them so long?" asked Sam for the fourth time in the past hour.

"I don't know, I'm not a doctor. Would ya sit down, before I tie ya to one of the chairs?"

"I can't. I need to know if my brother is okay. What if... what if he..." Sam trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

"Sam," sighed Bobby, standing up to walk in-front of Sam, placing his hands on his shoulders to stop his frantic actions. "Listen to me... Dean is okay. The doctor will be out to talk to us when he's ready."

"But what if... He was having a seizure Bobby. He's already really sick, and this... What if this makes him worse and he..."

Bobby didn't let him finish that thought as he stepped closer and wrapped his arms around him in a hug. "Dean's going to be alright Sam. He's the most stubborn person I know, he won't give up this easily," he whispered, trying not to let him know how worried he actually was. Bobby didn't think he would ever forget the feel of having to cradle Dean in his arms as he shook uncontrollably, it would haunt him until the day he died.

As Sam clung onto the closest thing he now had to a father, Dr Morgan walked up behind him and cleared his throat, making the two men jump.

"How is he? Is he awake? Can I see him?"

"He's still unconscious, but we've managed to stop the seizure. He's stable, and on oxygen right now to help him breathe since he's really struggling on his own."

"What's wrong with him?"

"He's suffering with a severe case of pneumonia."

Sam gasped in horror. "But he'll be okay, right?"

"We've put him on Antibiotics through an IV, and we've got another IV going in his other hand to put some fluids in him to rehydrate him. We've got him on medication to help with the fever, which is now standing at 105.1, and some painkillers since he seems to be in pain even though he's unconscious. He's in a very bad way right now and only time will tell. Even though he's proven to be a very strong young man, he's still in for a big fight."

"How did he get so bad in such a short amount of time? He's been sick the past couple of days, but it seemed to be only a cold... he didn't start getting really sick until today, and he got worse as the day passed."

"I think it may have started with either a cold or the flu, and due to his already weakened condition, it seems to have taken a toll on his body and made him go downhill faster. We'll have to keep him in for a few days for observation and treatment."

"I bet he'll love that," Sam muttered to himself, before turning back to the doctor. "Have you told him yet?"

"No. As I said, he hasn't woken up yet... and I thought I'd leave it to you to tell him the good news," Dr Morgan told him with a tiny smile.

Sam couldn't help smiling back, but the smile fell a second later. "Can we see him?"

"Of course. If you'll follow me," he said, turning around to lead the two worried men to Dean's room. "He's attached to a lot of machines right now. But they are there to help him, so try not to worry too much.

As they walked down the corridor and into the ICU, Sam felt his heart sink at the thought of Dean once again been so sick he had to be admitted to intensive care. He still had a hard time thinking about the past two times Dean had been in the hospital- both after the car crash and after he passed out and wouldn't wake up, and now he was back with pneumonia. Sam shook his head, he swore Dean was trying to give him heart failure with all the worrying.

He was so busy thinking that he didn't even realise they had reached Dean's room until Bobby placed his hand on his arm and gave it a squeeze, making him jump.

"We're here Sam," said Bobby, looking at Sam with a concerned expression. "Are ya alright?"

Sam looked at the door to Dean's room and shrugged. "Ask me that later," he whispered, slowly opening the door and entering the room.

When he saw the figure in the bed, Sam gasped and his breath caught in his throat. There were so many machines and wires attached to his brother's body, Sam wasn't even sure that Dean was actually in the bed until he closed the distance and stood beside him.

"Oh my god," he whispered, as his eyes roamed over Dean's thin body, which was unmoving apart from his chest rising shortly and falling deeply under harsh wheezes. Even with the oxygen mask, it sounded as though Dean was still having trouble breathing. A feverish flush on his cheeks and dark half-moons under his eyes were the only colour in his face, which was so white Sam swore the white sheets of the hospital bed had more colour. He saw the sweat that was running down from Dean's hairline and down his face, pooling in the deep crevasses of his collarbones. Sam was a little relieved to see it since he knew that sweat meant Dean was no longer dehydrated thanks to the drip.

Even though Dean looked sick earlier, he somehow looked even worse since he last saw him. He looked closer to death than life and the only indication that he was actually still alive was the slight movements of his chest and the  _beep beep_ of the heart monitor beside the bed. Sam heard a gasp behind him and turned around to see Bobby staring at Dean with a distraught expression.

"He looks even worse than he did earlier," Bobby said in a quiet voice as if he was afraid of Dean hearing him.

"I know." Sam sniffled, and adjusted the blanket over Dean's trembling form, as he took the limp hand gently in both of his own, being careful of the IV. "It's okay Dean. We're here now," he whispered, sitting down in the chair by the bed. "You're going to be alright. Can you hear me?"

Sam gave the bony hand a gentle squeeze and hoped to feel one back, but was disappointed when he didn't receive one. "Me and Bobby will be right here if you need us. Just get better, okay?"

Bobby sat down in the chair at the other side of the bed and let his eyes drift down from Dean's face and over his body, which somehow looked even thinner laying down. Every bone seemed to stick out as if he had sticks embedded under his skin. He took a shaky breath and reached over to gently take Dean's hand in his, careful not to put too much pressure on it, not wanting to add a broken hand to Dean's ailments. His thumb stroked the back of his hand, tracing the fragile bones and veins that were visible, making it look like a 3D roadmap.

As they sat in silence, the only sound in the room was Dean's breathing, which sounded close to an asthmatic, struggling for one weak breath after another. To Sam and Bobby, it sounded painful and looked excruciating, and it broke their hearts that they couldn't do anything but sit and watch.

* * *

It was over two hours later when Dean's eyelids fluttered slightly, before opening. Weakly looking around the room, he quickly realised he was back in the one place he didn't want to be. He groaned and closed his eyes again, not wanting to see the white depressing room any longer.

"Dean," whispered a voice beside his right ear, followed by a gentle squeeze to his hand. "Can you hear me?"

Dean turned and looked at Sam through fever-bright eyes, making them shine like emeralds. He reached up with a trembling hand and tried to take off the oxygen mask.

"Whoa. Leave it on, you need it," Sam told him, reaching up to cover Dean's hand with his own to stop him from removing the much-needed oxygen.

"H-Home."

Sam squeezed his hand again. "We can't. You have to stay here for a few days."

Dean weakly shook his head as he wheezed, "Home. D-Dont want... to b-be here."

"I know. I'd take you home in a heartbeat if I could, but I can't take care of you on my own. You're too sick."

"P-Please... S-Sammy. I c-can't..."

Sam's thumb gently stroked away the single tear as it made its way down Dean's bony cheek. "I'm sorry, but you're really sick Dean. You have pneumonia."

Dean stared at Sam in shock. "Just... c-c-cold."

"It might have started out as one, but it turned into pneumonia. But don't worry. You won't be here alone, as long as you're in here, we'll be here too."

Dean remained quiet for a few seconds, before he suddenly started coughing violently. The coughs sounded deep and wet and he felt as if he was hacking out a lung, and fighting for breaths in-between. He folded his arms protectively over his chest in a futile attempt to stop the stabbing pain that had erupted there.

Sam quickly turned Dean gently on his side slightly, and took off the oxygen mask, and supported him with one arm around his torso and the other on his back, rubbing circles in a comforting rhythm. He made sure he didn't put any pressure on the protruding shoulder blades or the visible bumps of Dean's spine, which felt so fragile against his hand, Sam was worried that any sort of pressure would cause the bones to break. "You're alright. Breathe. Take it easy. Small shallow breaths... That's it. Breathe."

Dean did his best to follow the instructions. For the first minute or two, it was difficult to control his breathing through his coughs, but the longer he did it the better it seemed to get.

"I know it hurts, but you're doing really well. Keep it up. That's it. Good job."

Dean continued breathing slowly until his coughing became less frequent and eventually came to a stop, leaving him in a wheezing sprawl on the bed.

When Dean finally stopped coughing, Sam got a handful of tissue from the bedside table and told him to spit into them, which he did. He tried not to grimace when he saw the greenish goo in the tissue and threw it in the bin at the other side of the room.

"Ugh," groaned the sick Winchester, screwing his eyes closed, trying to block out the searing burn in his chest with each breath he took. His breathing was harsh and kept hitching in pain every few seconds, making it difficult to fully relax.

"It's okay. I've got you," Sam soothed, carefully settling him back against the pillows, and placing the oxygen mask back over his sibling's face to help him breathe. He took hold of Dean's trembling hand in one of his, and watched the beads of sweat form on Dean's forehead and slowly track their way down his temple.

Sam picked up the wet wash-cloth with his free hand, and dipped it into the bowl of water sitting on the table by the bed. He let Dean's hand go for a second so he could wring out the excess water, and gently started running it over Dean's forehead, trying to help bring down the fever ravaging his already weak body. "Try and get some rest."

Dean looked at Sam through half-lidded glazed eyes, the misery and pain reflected in them made Sam want to cry, but he fought against it and smiled at him. "We're not going anywhere."

Dean looked pleadingly at Bobby as if silently asking him to take him home, before they fluttered closed and his exhausted, sick body went limp. The short rattling gasps as he breathed made the two men wince in sympathy.

"I hate seeing him like this," whispered Sam, as he continued to wipe the wet cloth down Dean's hot cheek.

"Me too. I'm going to talk to the doctor and then go home for little bit. I won't be long, I have something to do."

"Okay. Don't be too long. Dean needs us both to be here with him, and I..."

"I'll be back as quick as I can. I'm doing this for Dean. I want him to be as comfortable as possible, so he doesn't have to feel like he's in a hospital."

After explaining his idea to Sam, Bobby left the boys alone and went to do what he planned.

Sam turned back to Dean and watched him sleep as he did his best to cool him down. The unconscious, weak whimpers and ragged breaths caused Sam's throat to tighten up, and his heart to clench painfully. "Get better soon, big brother. You hear me?"

* * *

It was over an hour later when Dean's hand suddenly jerked out of Sam's tight grasp as a rough cough barrelled through his thin chest, and woke him up. It was followed by a non-stop assault of wet hacks, and no matter how much Sam tried to help him through it, the struggling man couldn't seem to catch his breath.

When Dean tried to take a breath, he seemed to be taking in a very small amount of air. He heard Sam and Bobby trying to help and comfort him, but he needed every bit of concentration focused on fighting desperately for one painful breath after another.

The scared pain-filled gasps were coming faster now, and Sam wished he could do more than sit by with nothing but words and soft touches to offer. He turned to Bobby and asked him to get the doctor.

Bobby pressed the button, and ran to the door when the doctor didn't come fast enough, leaving Sam to help his struggling brother.

"Come on Dean. Don't do this, breathe," Sam pleaded, carefully holding Dean on his side, and rubbing his back as he tried to help him. "Please breathe."

Bobby came back into the room with Dr Morgan running behind him. "I've got him."

Dr Morgan quickly took in the seriousness of the situation and was by his patients side in seconds. He gently moved Sam back from the bed, and carefully laid Dean on his back, and raised the bed slightly so he was sitting up. "Take it easy son. I know it feels like you can't draw breath, but believe me you can," he said, reaching for the oxygen mask, and securing it on Dean's face, before placing one hand on his heaving chest. "I need you to listen very carefully to me, can you do that?"

Dean's scared eyes turned to the doctor, and he nodded shakily as he continued fighting to breathe. He jerked slightly when he felt a hand clench his tightly and turned slightly to see Sam beside him.

"Every time I push, you breathe in. When I let go, you breathe out again. Do you understand that? I press in, you breathe in. Here we go."

Dean squeezed his watery eyes shut, as he followed the instructions as best as he could. The hand very gently pushed on his chest and he fought to take a breath in, before letting it out again when the hand moved.

At first Sam and Bobby were both sceptical that it would work, but synchronising his breathing with Dr Morgan's compressions seemed to be working and after a couple of minutes, the panicked gasps and wheezes slowly turned into shallow breaths that took on an even rhythm.

"That's it," whispered the doctor. "You've got it."

Sam tried to synchronise his breathing with Dean's in an attempt to calm his own breathing down, his heart was racing so fast that he was surprised he wasn't having a heart attack. "That's it Dean. You can do it."

Dean focused on Sam as he took another shuddering breath when he felt the gentle pressure on his chest, and slowly let it out again when the pressure left.

When Dr Morgan was satisfied with his patients improvement, he smiled. "Good job Dean. Now deepen the breaths a little. I'll continue helping with the timing. In... Out..." He gently pressed on Dean's chest. "In... Out. Take it slow. You're doing a great job. Keep it up."

Dean did his best to deepen the breaths, and let out a whimper at the sudden stabbing pain slicing through his chest once more. He felt another hand on his knee and opened his eyes again to see Bobby looking down at him with an encouraging expression. He closed his eyes again and held his breath for a second, but let it out with a shuddering sigh when he felt the doctor's hand lift.

Several minutes went by, and with the three men's help Dean continued to improve. He was relieved when it seemed to be getting easier with each breath he took, and his body slowly relaxed against the bed.

"Well done Dean. Come on," said Sam, squeezing Dean's hand slightly. "You've almost got it. You can do it."

When Dean's breathing finally evened out, the other three men let out sighs of relief. Dean was still wheezing like a struggling asthmatic, but at least he was no longer fighting to draw in each breath.

Dr Morgan gently squeezed Dean's shoulder and smiled down at his patient. "There we go. That wasn't so hard was it?"

Dean looked up at the doctor and raised one eyebrow, as if silently saying 'easy for you to say'.

"I'll let you get settled again while I check the machines. Then I'll need to check your lungs to see how you're doing." The doctor smiled and stood back from the bed to check the monitors and IVs that were keeping Dean stabilised.

Sam was watching Dr Morgan checking on the monitors and frowning. He already knew Dean was really sick, but seeing the concern written all over the doctor's face made his heart pound in fear.

Dr Morgan finished checking his patient over, and took his stethoscope from around his neck. "I need to listen to your lungs. Sam, can you sit him up for me and hold him for a minute so I can get to his back?"

"Okay." Sam sat on the bed and very carefully lifted his fragile brother into his arms, letting him rest against his chest. "I've got you," he whispered, wrapping his arms around Dean when he felt the hot face nuzzle against his much cooler neck. Sam lowered his head so his cheek was resting on the sweat-soaked hair.

The doctor lifted Dean's shirt, and placed the stethoscope on his bare back, careful not to place it on the raised ridges of his spine. "I know it hurts, but I need you to breathe in as deep as you can."

Dean took a few more shallow breaths, before taking a deeper one, but as soon as he did, the first wet rattling coughs shook his weak body. It was followed by many more and with each one Dean became more breathless and limp against Sam.

With the doctor's help Dean finally managed to take a deeper breath, but it left him wheezing and barely conscious in Sam's arms.

Sam raised one hand and gently cradled the back of Dean's head, stroking his fingers through the wet strands of hair. His eyes burned with tears as Dean's weak body convulsed with the effort of just drawing in air. "It's okay Dean. I've got you." He turned to the doctor. "Was that enough?"

Dr Morgan sighed and took the stethoscope out of his ears. "It doesn't sound too good I'm afraid. You can lay him back down now."

Sam nodded, and reluctantly laid Dean back down against the pillows, covering him up with the blanket when the shivering seemed to have worsened. "I'll be back in a sec Dean," he said, and stood from the bed and walked closer to the doctor. "How is he?"

"Well, his vitals aren't so good. They've deteriorated slightly, his temperature has risen a little and it was already at a dangerous level, it is now 105.2. He's a very sick young man, and to be honest I'm amazed he's actually conscious right now."

Sam turned to look at Dean over his shoulder. "That's Dean for you. He's the most stubborn and strongest person we know."

"I've given him some pain medication and I'm going to start him on a dose of steroids, and try him on a stronger antibiotic since the one he's on doesn't seem to be helping- it should have helped lower the fever, but instead it's gone up. I'm going to get him started on another drip since he seems to be sweating them out faster than we can keep them in right now and he can't afford to lose any fluids and get dehydrated again. I'll also try a muscle relaxant to ease the restriction in his chest, hopefully it'll help so he's not struggling so hard to breathe. The excess fluid accumulated around his lungs doesn't seem to be going down, so later we might have to insert a chest tube. His oxygen levels are low despite the extra help, and you may have noticed the slight grey tinge to his lips and his fingernails."

"What does that mean?"

"They're the first signs of oxygen deficiency. If the change of antibiotic and the steroids don't work or he continues to deteriorate, then I'm afraid he may have to be intubated."

Sam felt like a hand made of ice had reached into his chest and gripped his heart as the word 'intubated' crossed the doctors lips. It wasn't too long ago that Dean was fighting for his life on a ventilator as he struggled to survive after the car accident. He had come too close to losing Dean, and he didn't know if he could see him like that again, not so soon after the last time.

When Sam looked too upset to speak, Bobby was the one to ask, "Why?"

"Dean is fighting very hard, but his body is very weak and it has to put up more of a fight than it would if he was at full health, but it's draining what little energy reserves he has and it's making all his other organs work two or three times harder. If we put him in a drug induced coma that'll give his body a chance to rest and heal so it can fight back on its own. His body is already severely weakened and if something doesn't change soon then there's a high risk of his body shutting down." Dr Morgan smiled and put his hand on Sam's arm in support. "This is only a worst case scenario, it may not come to that. We have to hope that he'll start to improve, but if he doesn't..."

Sam nodded shakily and wiped his tears with his sleeves. "I don't want to lose him. If he... If it comes to it... Only if they don't work and there is no other choice," he said reluctantly.

"Alright then. I'll be..." Dr Morgan broke off when his beeper started going off. "I have to go so I'll get one of the nurses to come in to start him on the treatment. If anything changes, press the button and I'll be in here like a shot." He nodded at the little family and quickly left the room to deal with the emergency.

"Oh my god," Sam breathed in an emotion-filled voice. "Bobby, what if..."

"Don't think like that Sam," whispered Bobby, placing his hand on Sam's arm. He had to be strong for his boys, so he tried his hardest not to let his emotions show. "Come on. He needs us now, more than ever." He nodded to him and walked over to the bed-ridden hunter.

Sam took a deep breath to control his emotions before he turned back to Dean and sat on the edge of the bed, taking the trembling hand in both of his own. "Hey Dean."

Dean opened his eyes weakly and looked up at Sam through half-lidded eyes. He caught sight of pictures on the wall, and blinked in surprise as he looked at the posters of AC/DC, Metallica, Black Sabbath, Ozzy Osbourne and Led Zeppelin now decorating the walls, along with framed photos of himself and Sam on every surface available and a couple of him and Bobby. He had to smile when he saw the photo of the Impala taking pride of place in the middle- it was taken just after Dean had washed her, and she shimmered and shined in the sun.

Dean was thankful that all the pictures of him were older ones and not recent ones of how he now looked, he didn't think he could stand to see his skeletal face staring back at him. He saw the picture of the smiling blond on the far left and stared at the image of Mary. It almost looked as if she was watching over him, and Dean liked to think she was- even though he didn't believe in them, he knew if there was such a thing as angels, then his mom definitely was one. There was a picture of John standing beside the Impala on the other side, which made Dean smile slightly again. He had all his family surrounding him, even those who were no longer here and he felt surrounded by love.

"Do you like it? It was Bobby's idea," Sam told him, his heart warming when he saw the faint smile appear under the oxygen mask. It was only a tiny smile, but it was there and that was enough to know they had done the right thing. "We've even brought this." He picked up the model Impala that him and Dean had built together and placed it beside Dean's hand. "We obviously couldn't bring the real thing up here, so the Mini-'Pala will have to do until you're better. You've also got your MP3 player and your books. We want this to feel more like home since you really hate these places and we want you to be as comfortable as possible while you're here, and we knew it would cheer you up."

Usually it was only children's rooms that were decorated, but since the doctor remembered how much Dean hated hospitals the last time he was here, he allowed the two men to decorate the room to make Dean feel more at home.

Dean raised a trembling hand to lift the mask slightly. "A-A-Awesome," he croaked, as his hand dropped limply back to the bed, fingers stroking the smooth surface of the model car. He looked around the room once more before his eyelids reluctantly fluttered closed and his body relaxed as he fell asleep within seconds. The infection and fever along with his already weak and skinny frame were eating away at his body, sapping his strength fast.

"Get better soon," Sam whispered, running the wet cloth over his face, smiling when even unconscious Dean leaned his cheek against the cool cloth as if seeking comfort or savouring the coolness against his hot skin.

The nurse walked into the room and got Dean started on the medication that Dr Morgan had prescribed, hoping that it started to help him. She remembered him from when he was in here after passing out and had become attached to the little family and if anyone deserved some good news, it was them.

* * *

Later that night, Dean's condition had deteriorated slightly and Dr Morgan told them that he was fighting so hard his organs were over exerting themselves, and they were shutting down from the stress, so he had to put him on a ventilator to take the pressure off his lungs and let his body get some rest and heal. The doctor also started to feed him through an NG-tube up his nose, so he didn't lose any of the weight he had managed to gain, since Dean was already severely underweight, he couldn't afford any more weight loss.

Sam was still holding Dean's hand and trying his best to cool him down with the cloth in his other hand as he listened to the heart monitor and the machine that was breathing for his brother. The sound of the ventilator was steady and in a way even calming as Sam breathed in and out with each beep, his chest rising and falling in sync with Dean's.

"Hang in there, we'll take care of you," he whispered, giving the hand a gentle squeeze. He wiped away his tears as he stared at him, the tube sticking out of Dean's mouth was like a mirror image of all those months ago when Dean was dying after the car accident.

Sam's hold on Dean's hand tightening slightly as he reminded himself that Dean was sick from pneumonia and not dying because of his injuries caused by the demon and car accident, and the machine was trying to help him, not the only thing keeping him alive. "No. He's not... You hear me Dean? You're going to be alright, you have to keep fighting. Me and Bobby will be right here waiting until you've had enough rest and you're strong enough to come back to us," he whispered, his thumb stroking the back of Dean's bony hand. "Your body may be weak right now, but your spirit is the strongest one I've ever known, so I know you're strong enough to keep fighting."

He turned to dip the cloth back in the water, and saw the MP3 player beside it. He had heard somewhere that people who were unconscious could still hear things being said to them, so he grabbed the player, and ran through all the songs until he came across the Metallica playlist. After starting the first song, and turning it down a little, Sam carefully placed the earphones into Dean's ears, so he could listen to the music he loved so much.

"At least this time you don't have to put up with my terrible singing," whispered Sam, staring down at Dean. He was about to add something else when Bobby walked into the room with two coffees and the doctor following behind him.

"Look who I bumped into."

"Hey Sam. I've come to check on him. How's he doing?" asked Dr Morgan, walking over to the machines.

"He's still burning up," Sam answered, wiping the cloth down his freckled cheek.

The doctor nodded and was silent as he checked everything over. After a few minutes, he turned back to Sam and Bobby. "The antibiotics and the other meds seem to be working. His fevers gone back down to 105. It's still not where we want it to be, but at least it's going in the right direction."

Sam sighed in relief. "Thank god. When can you take that out," he asked, nodding to the ventilator tube.

"As I said earlier, when his body has had time to rest, and we see an improvement in his condition, we'll start weaning him off the medicine that's keeping him in the coma. It's only been a couple of hours, and it usually depends on the patient to how long they'll need the extra help. It can be a few days, it can be less. Dean has already proven what a strong young man he is, and he's definitely a fighter."

"Yeah he is. I don't think he's lost a fight in his life, so he's not going to start now. Do whatever you can to help him get better," he said, and the other two men knew he wasn't just talking about the pneumonia.

"I better get going. You know what to do if he needs anything." Dr Morgan shook Sam and Bobby's hands and left the room to check on his other patients.

Bobby and Sam sat on either side of the bed, and continued watching over the fallen member of their little family.

**TBC**


	25. Chapter 25

As the hours passed, Sam kept watch over Dean, who was still deathly pale, apart from two spots of colour high on his bony cheekbones. His freckles stood out in stark contrast to the sickly colour of his skin, which was clammy and covered in perspiration. His lashes lay long and delicate against the dark circles under his eyes, making him look almost childlike.

While Sam sat at his brother's bedside, he always made sure to let Dean know that he wasn't alone. Either he spoke to him, or he placed the earphones into his ears and played his music for him.

Bobby kept bringing in coffee and sandwiches for Sam so he didn't end up getting admitted into the hospital along with Dean. So neither of the two men ended up exhausted, they took shifts in looking after Dean, and were kept busy wiping his feverish skin with cold washcloths.

As Sam stared at Dean's face, he avoided the ventilator tube sticking out of Dean's mouth. "I don't know if you heard me all those months ago. But I meant what I said, you have to hold on, you can't go when we've just started to be brothers again. Keep fighting. I know you can do it," he whispered as if talking any louder would tip the scales of recovery against him, as if his fragile body might suddenly disintegrate and scatter like ash in the wind.

"All you have to do is concentrate all your energy on fighting this and getting better. Take all the time you need, as long as you come back. I can't do this without you, Dean."

When Bobby came back with more coffee, he noticed the red puffy eyes and wet cheeks, but decided not to ask if Sam was okay- he knew he wasn't, and if Bobby had to be honest, neither was he. Neither of them would be okay until Dean woke up and came back to them.

During the night, they took it in turns of looking after Dean, and sleeping. They took shifts every few hours, but agreed to wake the other up if Dean showed any signs of change.

* * *

On the second morning of Dean being on the ventilator, the doctor showed up at 7am and Sam watched him check Dean's vitals and replace the IV's of fluids. When he asked about Dean's fever, he told him it had dropped one degree to 104, and was holding steady, which was a good sign that the medication was working.

"How's he doing?" asked Bobby, waking up.

"With the stress off his body and his organs, he seems to be improving with the vents help. His lungs also sound a little better, and he's responding to the antibiotics, which is great news. If he continues like this, we might be able to take him off it sooner rather than later."

"Yeah. But that shouldn't be much of a surprise, Dean's the most stubborn person that I know."

"Ya got that right. He's a stubborn pain in the ass, but he's our stubborn pain in the ass," he said, watching Dean with a fatherly expression.

No matter how many times he saw him in a hospital bed, it never got any easier, each time seemed to be worse than the last, and with the tube running down Dean's throat and the artificial breaths pushing his chest to rise and fall was a grim reminder of how sick he really was.

When the doctor left, Sam quickly gave Bobby the reports of Dean's progress through the night, making the older man smile again.

He looked up at Sam, who was yawning sleepily. "Why don't I take watch for awhile?"

Sam watched Dean for several seconds, before finally nodding. "Okay, but only for two hours." He gave the washcloth to Bobby and turned back to Dean. "I'm taking a little break, but you keep hanging in there, okay?"

The only answer he received was the beep of the machines beeping their steady rhythm, and the whoosh of the ventilator, but Sam nodded anyway as if Dean had agreed. He squeezed Dean's shoulder and walked over to the cot that had been brought in.

"Wake me up if there's even a hint of change. I'll see you in a couple of hours... you too, big brother," he added, laying down and falling asleep within seconds.

The rhythmic sound of the ventilator pushing air in and out of Dean's lungs seemed loud in the overall hush of the room.

"If ya wanted yer beauty sleep this badly, ya didn't have to go to such extremes," Bobby whispered, letting a tiny smile curl up his lips, before he became serious again, his eyes going watery as they searched the face of the young man who was like a son to him. "Ya have to keep getting better, son. The doctor said that if ya continue like this, ya could wake up soon."

He watched Dean for a few long moments, reaching out again to run a rough finger down his flushed cheek. When the weight of the world wasn't on his shoulders, Dean looked so much younger, he looked peaceful, but somehow vulnerable and fragile.

It was moments like this that made Bobby realise that he was still so young- only 28. When he was asleep or unconscious, and his face was relaxed, Bobby could still see the little boy he first met all those years ago, the little boy who wouldn't speak or smile unless spoken to, until Bobby had taken him out to his garage to let him see the cars, which made him smile so bright, it had been like the sun had suddenly come out and melted the ice around his heart. He had hardened his heart after the death of his wife, because the idea of letting someone else in was too much, but the sweet, quiet and lovable young boy had chipped away at the ice and had found his way into his heart.

Bobby took Dean's bony hand in his, careful of the IV port, and gently started rubbing circles on the soft skin. "I never thought I'd miss yer smart-ass comments, but I'd give anything to hear one right now. I'll never get used to seeing ya so still, even when ya were a kid and were asleep, ya used to fidget all over the bed like a little epileptic worm or something," he said with a smile, holding the cloth against Dean's face as he cupped his cheek.

"Keep fighting, ya hear me? Because if ya don't... and give up, I'll be kicking yer bony ass and dragging ya back by the hair. We need ya here. We need our Deano to make this family whole," he whispered, using the nickname he gave him as a child. "We need ya back."

His gaze wandered over to the heart monitor, trying to figure out what all the numbers and lines meant. He gave up his attempt and concentrated on the steady rise and fall of Dean's chest, deciding that as long as he could see that, it meant he was still fighting.

* * *

**-Two Days Later-**

* * *

The days passed by slowly, every minute seemed to last an hour, every hour seemed to last a day, but Sam and Bobby never left Dean's side other than sleeping, going to the bathroom or getting something to eat.

Dr Morgan was happy with Dean's progress, and told the two men that his fever had finally dropped to 101 and his lungs were much clearer, so the chest tube had been removed. They were relieved as he told them that he had started to reduce the medicine keeping him asleep, and would be back later to remove the ventilator, but had warned them not to expect a miracle of Dean magically waking up and being perfectly fine, it could take awhile for him to come round, and even longer to recover, but both men would wait forever if it meant that Dean would come back to them. The NG tube had also been removed, and the doctors were now feeding Dean through an IV, after Dr Morgan told them that Dean would be more comfortable without the tube up his nose when he woke up.

Sam and Bobby were both currently awake, watching over Dean together. Dean's colour was better, and his breathing sounded less congested, but both men could see he still had a long road of recovery ahead of him and they would happily walk that road with him and would always catch him if he fell.

* * *

It was five in the evening when the doctor removed the ventilator.

"He's doing good. He has a mask on for now, but it's only a precaution. He's able to breathe on his own, he still has a slight rattle, but that's due to the pneumonia. But if you hear any deterioration of his breathing let one of us know immediately."

"Okay. When will he wake up?"

"It depends on the patient, sometimes it can take hours, sometimes days. But knowing Dean, it probably won't be long before he's awake and complaining about being here."

"What about the feeding tube?" Sam asked, pointing at the IV.

"I don't want Dean to lose the weight he managed to gain, so we'll leave it in as long as possible. When he wakes up, this will be easier on him than the tube up his nose. I'll be back to check on him later," said Dr Morgan, before leaving the room.

Sam was smiling as his eyes drifted to his brother's still form, happy that he could see his face without seeing the hated tube. Dean's breathing was still rough, but he was doing it on his own and that alone was the best news they had heard since this whole nightmare had begun.

* * *

It was that night when Dr Morgan told the two men that Dean seemed to be breathing better, so he replaced the mask with a nasal cannula, since he still needed a little help.

"Bet it feels good to be rid of that tube, huh?" whispered Sam, reaching over to take Dean's cold, damp and limp hand in his own. His eyes travelled from the prominent cheekbones and the sharp curve of his jaw down to his chapped lips, which were no longer wrapped around the tube or hidden by a mask.

Bobby brushed Dean's hair from his warm forehead with his fingers, and froze when Dean moved his head. He looked at Sam to make sure he wasn't imagining it. "Did..."

"Yeah. I saw it." Sam leaned forward slightly. "Dean? Can you hear me?"

Dean's eyebrow twitched and a grimace crossed his face as his eyelids fluttered and two slits of green peeked out from under half closed lids. At first all he could see were fuzzy shadows as though he was looking through a cloudy and smeared window. Blinking several times helped to focus and slowly shapes got clearer, until Sam's worried face hovered in-front of him.

"There you are. It's so good to see you. How are you feeling?"

He frowned and looked around the decorated room in confusion for a few seconds, before looking back to Sam.

"Do you remember what happened? Do you know where you are?"

"Uh..." Dean's trembling hand slowly reached to remove whatever was up his nose, but Sam grabbed it before he could. "H'spal?"

"Yeah. You have pneumonia. You've been really sick, but the doctor says you're going to be alright."

Dean remained silent for several minutes. The sedatives he had been given were wearing off, but he still felt groggy. His head, throat and chest hurt like hell, but he was now reaching Zombie status. It was better than dead, but still far away from joining the land of the living.

Dean tried to speak, which turned out to be a mistake as he ended up coughing so dry and harsh that it felt as if his throat was being scraped raw with sandpaper. He choked and sat up with Sam's help, and coughed deeply into the tissue that was gripped in one hand. After a few hacks, he cleared his throat and spat with a grimace.

Sam pressed the switch that lifted the head of the bed until Dean raised his thumb and sank back into the pillows, still coughing. He accepted the water Sam offered him and took a small sip from the straw, savouring the feel of the cool liquid running down his sore throat.

"Is that better?" asked Sam, plumping Dean's pillows.

When Dean finished drinking, he handed the glass back to Sam, and turned to Bobby. "Hey Bobby," he whispered in a breathless voice.

"Hey son. How are ya feeling?"

"Peachy."

Bobby rolled his eyes. "Yeah, ya look it."

"Home?"

"Not yet. The doctor wants to keep you here a little longer. You've been in an induced coma and on a ventilator for the past few days."

Dean looked confused for a minute, and then the expression changed to surprise. "Oh," he whispered, and closed his eyes, as if that small word exhausted him.

"You're getting better. You still look like crap... but you're getting better."

Before Dean could reply, the doctor came into the room and looked surprised to see Dean awake. "Hello Dean. How are you feeling?"

Dean gave him a thumbs up instead of answering aloud, making Dr Morgan smile. "You're looking much better than before. I wasn't expecting you to wake up until tomorrow at the earliest."

"I'm more surprised that he didn't wake up as soon as you lowered the sedation."

Dr Morgan laughed as he walked over to check his patient's vitals. After several minutes, he turned to the three men. "They're a lot better, but not quite where I'd like them to be. You won't be feeling so great for awhile, but you'll make a full recovery as long as you follow my orders. If you continue responding to the treatment, you could be out of here quicker than we planned."

"Tomorrow?"

"Not that quick I'm afraid. It'll be at least two or three days, maybe a week before you can go home. But I recommend bedrest for another week when you are home."

"Don't worry doc. We'll tie him to the bed if we have to," said Sam, stroking his fingers through Dean's sweat-soaked hair.

Dean scowled at Sam, but the effect was ruined by a yawn. "Damn. I'm tired. How can I be tired when I've been unconscious for days?"

"You're still recovering, Dean. You need a lot of rest, you can't wake up and expect to do cartwheels around the room."

"Now that I would pay to see," laughed Sam, looking down at Dean, but was surprised to see he was already asleep. "Wow. He really was tired."

"I'd better be going. I've got other patients to check on, but when he next wakes up, let me know. I want to start him on the anti-depressants as soon as possible, I don't want him to fall back down the well of depression again. It's not usually hospital policy, but Dean needs to take these or we'll be back to where we started. I'll see you later."

Sam placed the wet cloth on Dean's forehead, and sat back in his chair and watched over him. He felt like he could finally take a deep breath without the weight of fear pressing down on him. He knew his brother wasn't anywhere near okay, but just having him awake and talking felt like the greatest victory of all time.

* * *

**-Three Days Later-**

* * *

After a week in the hospital and an hour of pleading with the doctor, Dean was finally allowed to go home. Dr Morgan had been reluctant, wanting him to stay in the hospital for another week, but after Sam and Bobby had promised to take care of him and not to let him leave the bed apart from going to the bathroom, he let Dean go with new prescriptions of antibiotics, vitamins, iron pills and anti-depressants.

He told them that until Dean was better the best food for him to eat would be soup and scrambled eggs if he could handle it, three times a day. Thanks to the feeding tube, he had only lost a pound during his hospitalisation, but Dr Morgan didn't want him to lose any more than that.

When the Impala pulled up outside Bobby's house, Sam and Bobby immediately helped Dean out of the car. "Dude I can walk, you don't..." Dean stopped when a sudden cough caught him off guard and he almost fell to the ground with the force.

"Whoa. I got you," said Sam, holding him while Bobby rubbed his back soothingly.

When the coughing fit was over, the two men walked Dean into the house and straight upstairs.

"Why are we going upstairs?"

"You're staying in bed until we say you're well enough, and no arguing."

"Great. I'm going to be bored to death," said Dean as they slowly climbed the stairs.

"No you won't. We've set up our room to stop you from getting bored."

When they reached the top of the stairs, Dean was short of breath and had to rest for several minutes. He sagged between the two men, who supported and held him through it, murmuring words of encouragement.

"Do you want me to carry you? I'll carry you to bed if you need me to."

Dean glared up at Sam. "Do you want me to knee you in the balls? Because I'll do that if you need me to."

Bobby chuckled. "It's alright son. Take as long as ya need. Let us know when yer ready."

After two or three minutes, Dean straightened up. "I'm ready. Let's go."

The three of them slowly made it to Dean and Sam's bedroom. When Bobby opened the door, Dean's eyes widened when he saw that all the decorations and pictures he had in his hospital room were now decorating his side of the bedroom and a new TV was set up with a DVD player and a games console with a boxful of games beside it. His books, DS and games, and DVDs were piled on the bedside table beside the Impala model.

Dean was ushered to the bed and laid down against the mountain of pillows.

"Are you comfy?" asked Sam, adjusting the covers.

Dean started shifting and moving around the bed trying to get comfortable.

"Will ya stop fidgeting? Ya look like a giant epileptic worm."

Dean opened his eyes and glared at him. He remembered Bobby calling him something like that when he was younger.

Bobby ruffled his hair. "Sleep, idjit. I've seen teddy bears that looked more intimidating than ya do right now."

"I'm not tired. I've been doing nothing but sleep for days. I slept for two hours before we left. I want to do something more exciting than looking at the back of my eyelids."

"How about this?" said Sam, turning on the TV, and setting up the games console that Dean could see was a Super Nintendo.

"No way," whispered Dean with a weak grin. "You got one?"

"Yeah. I remember all the fun we had at the cabin, so I bought one and some games from a second-hand store. It may not be the most up to date console in the world, but the best memories of our childhood are a lot more important than buying the newest things. You don't even need to get out of bed, and the only things you'll have to move are your thumbs, so you'll still be resting."

"Awesome," said Dean, holding his hand out for the controls. "Me Mario, you Luigi."

"I know. Are you ready?" asked Sam, sitting beside him.

"Hell yeah," answered Dean, stifling a cough into the crook of one arm.

"Are you alright?" Sam picked up the glass of water from the bedside table and gave it to Dean. "Here."

"Thanks." Dean paused the game and took a few sips. After giving the glass back to Sam, he settled back against the pillows and continued with the game.

Sam laid back against the headboard and shifted closer to Dean so their shoulders were touching. "JUMP! DON'T GET KILLED BY THE THING!"

"Will you quit yelling?" asked Dean in a low voice, but he was smiling as he said it.

* * *

**-That Night-**

* * *

It was three in the morning when Dean was awoken by a nightmare. He shot up in bed with a gasp, his wide eyes darting around the room, which he finally realised was the room he shared with Sam, who was still asleep.

He closed his eyes, but the blurred after-image of two glowing yellow eyes and the face of his dad, smirking at him as he slowly killed him was still dancing on his retinas.

This dream was the worst one yet- This one ended with Dean being in hell with his own dad torturing and taunting him. He hadn't had a nightmare the whole week he was in hospital, but now it seemed as if they were back with a vengeance. An ice cold hand tightened on his chest and clasped at his heart, and squeezed until his breathing turned into harsh panting, then the shaking and the tears started.

It took several minutes to regain control of his emotions. "Dammit," he whispered, rubbing his hands down his face. He threw the covers off the bed, before climbing out and walking over to the door.

Dean slowly walked downstairs, holding tightly to the banister so if he felt dizzy he wouldn't fall downstairs and wake everyone up. When he made it to the bottom, he sat down for a few minutes to catch his breath, before quickly putting his boots on. After he was ready, he unlock the door, and stepped outside.

He made his way to his car and sat down on the hood, not caring that he was in a t-shirt and sweatpants. He wasn't thinking clearly right now, he just had to get out of the house and away from the nightmares that still plagued him.

Dean placed his feet on the bumper and cried. When the tears slowed down, he looked up into the night sky, the stars were almost mesmerising and made him feel at peace. He didn't know how long he was out there before he heard Bobby come outside and walk over to the car.

"What the hell are ya doing out here at three in the damn morning? Ya have pneumonia and have just got out of hospital, ya damn idjit."

Dean shrugged and continued watching the stars. "Couldn't sleep."

"Come inside, son. Ya shouldn't be out here."

"I just needed to get out of the house," said Dean, coughing into his closed fist.

Bobby took his jacket off and wrapped it around Dean's trembling shoulders. "So ya decided to come out here and re-enact the end of the Shining? It's freezing out here."

"There's only two places I've ever considered home... your house and the Impala," he whispered, running his fingers over the gleaming surface. "Even though I can't drive her right now, I can always rely on my baby to make me feel better." Dean felt his chest tighten, and he started rubbing it to ease the pain. A coughing fit racked his body, making him double over.

"I got ya son," said Bobby, rubbing soothing circles on his back.

Dean couldn't speak for a couple of minutes as he hacked and choked, sounding as though he was coughing his lungs up. When he finally finished coughing, he was being held by Bobby, who was watching him with a worried expression.

"Are ya alright?"

Dean spat whatever he brought up onto the ground, and nodded weakly, gasping slightly. "A-Awesome."

"This is why ya should be in bed, idjit."

"I can't. Everytime I close my eyes, I have nightmares about..." Dean shook his head, and turned to Bobby. "I wish I could go for a drive to get away, but I don't want her to get smashed up again."

Bobby's heart broke when he saw the fear in those big green eyes, which made them look hollow and haunted. "Do ya want to go for a ride? I'll drive."

Dean's pale face lit up. "Really? Awesome."

"I'll run inside and get the keys and leave a note for Sam so he doesn't wake up and panic." Bobby squeezed Dean's arm once before turning back to the house to get the car keys.

* * *

They were driving in silence for ten minutes when Bobby broke the silence. "Do ya mean what ya said? About my place being home?"

Dean turned from the window and looked at the man he considered as a father. "Yeah. It was always warm and it was the one place that I was always welcome... plus you let me help out with the cool cars and taught me nearly everything I know." He smiled fondly at the memories. "It was the only place I could ever be a kid and not always have to look out for Sammy every second of every day. Don't get me wrong, I love the kid, but..."

"Ya wanted some time for yerself, to be carefree for once. Nobody's gonna blame ya for that." Bobby smiled at him, before turning back to the road. He noticed Dean rubbing his stomach out of the corner of his eye. "Are ya hungry? We could get some food if ya want."

"No," said Dean, turning to stare out of the window.

"Dean, ya know what the..."

"It's not like that Bobby. I'm not hungry." Dean sighed and closed his eyes, before finally revealing his reason for being weird around food. He had wanted to tell Bobby before when they were fishing, but he wasn't sure if he was ready. "The reason I avoided food before was because I realised how much I wanted to die. I didn't need food. If I avoided it, I wouldn't eat it. And if I didn't eat it, I'd die quicker. When you guys made me food, I used to tell myself that it's going to slow it down, I had to get rid of it." Dean paused to catch his breath. "It got to the point where it became automatic, and I didn't even realise what I was doing as I ran to the bathroom. When I started getting better, I kept telling myself that if I wanted to live, I had to eat, I had to be near food. It took awhile, but I'm getting used to it again. It's still hard to be near food, but I'm trying my best."

"I know son. But if ya ever start thinking like that again, come straight to me, okay?"

"Okay."

"So, why did ya come out here instead of me or Sam?"

"My car, She..."

"She what?"

"She's always been there my whole life. She drove me home from the hospital when I was a baby. Whenever I couldn't sleep, dad would always take me for a ride and the rumble of her engine would always soothe me to sleep... Kind of like a lullaby." Dean broke off to catch his breath. "She carries me when I'm too tired to walk and takes me where I need to be. No matter how hot or cold it is, she always puts a roof over my head. And when I need someone to talk to... She may not talk back, but she's always here." Tears filled his eyes and he swallowed around the lump in his throat. "She's the only one in my life that's never left me."

"When have I ever left ya? I've always been here for ya... even when John was a jackass and I threatened to shoot him if he ever stepped foot in my house again after the way he treated ya. That never included my boys. I've always been here and even though yer a grown man, that's never gonna change. I'll always be here."

Dean smiled and stared out at the scenery as it passed by the window.

* * *

As they drove, Dean told Bobby about the nightmares about his dad and the demon that had haunted his dreams every night since John died.

When he finished talking, Bobby whistled. "Wow. No wonder yer having trouble sleeping. Have ya told Sam?"

"Why would I do that?"

"He's yer brother, he's worried about ya... So am I," he added, looking over at Dean with a worried expression.

"I know, but I'll be okay... eventually." He raised one arm and stifled a cough in the crook of his elbow. "Dammit," he whispered, rubbing his aching chest again.

"Ya do know it's not yer fault, right? That ya don't deserve to die."

Dean looked away and didn't respond to the question.

"Dean, listen to me, they're only dreams."

"I know, but..."

"But what?"

"Sometimes they seem so real, it's hard to tell what's real and what's not. Sometimes it's like nightmare and reality come together and I have a hard time telling the difference." He paused to wipe his teary eyes. "I have you and Sam telling me it's not my fault and that you need me, but then I have dad telling me it is my fault and I should be dead, and I... It's hard Bobby."

Bobby pulled over and turned to Dean. "Listen to me. Yer daddy's dead, and even if he wasn't there's no way he would ever say anything like that to ya... even if he was a jackass sometimes. That man loved ya with all his heart, he didn't always show it, but he did. So next time ya have that nightmare, tell yerself that it's only a dream... or better yet, tell the yellow-eyed sonofabitch to go screw himself and go back to hell and leave ya the hell alone, or I'll come in there and blow his frigging head off. I've still got my shotgun, and I ain't afraid to use it."

Dean laughed, and wiped away the rest of the tears. "When I was in hospital, I never dreamed. I kind of wish I could go back, just so I didn't have to dream."

"Next time ya see the doctor, ask him if there's anything he can give ya that might help with the dreams. Or maybe we can find something in one of my books that could help ya. I hate to see ya like this."

"Maybe." Dean sighed and laid his head back against the seat, as if all the talking had exhausted him. "I don't know why, but it's always easier to talk to you. Dad always told me that talking about feelings was for wussies and it was best to keep it bottled up, that I'd need all that anger and emotion to fight the monsters. Sam... It's harder to talk to him. I don't want him to see me..."

"Ya don't want him to see ya as anything but his big brother. The one who's always strong. His hero."

"I wasn't going to put it like that, but yeah. Thanks Bobby."

"That's what I'm here for," Bobby told him, wrapping one arm around his thin shoulders. "If ya ever need to talk or go for a ride, ya can always come to me, instead of coming out here in the cold. My door is always open."

When they pulled away, Bobby started the car again. "How about we continue with our drive?"

"Yeah. I'd like that." Dean relaxed against the comforting leather seats and sighed in contentment. The rumble of the engine soothed him like it always did, as he closed his eyes.

* * *

It was ten minutes later when Bobby felt a soft thump against his side. Looking down, he saw that Dean was fast asleep with his head against his shoulder.

Slowing down, Bobby carefully laid Dean down so his head was cushioned against his lap and adjusted the jacket over him to keep him warm.

"Sweet dreams son," he whispered, stroking his fingers through Dean's hair, hoping to bring his boy some comfort. He looked away from the road for a second and looked down at Dean, the expression in those eyes was the same one that any father would give his son- A look full of pride and love that would have Dean embarrassed if he ever saw it.

Not wanting to go home yet, he decided to drive until the early morning light shone through the clouds. He didn't know if the Impala still worked her magic or if it was Bobby himself that comforted Dean, but he didn't have a single nightmare in the two hours that Bobby drove through the empty streets.

Bobby liked to think it was both, but he was glad he had helped Dean get some much needed sleep. He would drive him all night every night if it meant that Dean was at peace.

**TBC**


	26. Chapter 26

**This is the last chapter written so far, but I'm currently trying to write the next chapter. Hopefully I can finish it soon.**

Ten days after leaving the hospital, Dean was now fully recovered from the pneumonia and was taking each day as it came. Some days were hard, but some were better than others. Each day had it's own challenges, but one thing was for sure- Dean wasn't a quitter.

Over the past few days, he had spoken a lot to Bobby and the two of them had gone on numerous drives to help Dean through his nightmares. Both had helped a lot more than Dean thought they would, he didn't think talking would help anything, but surprisingly it did.

He had managed to regain the pound he had lost in the hospital, so he was back up to 109. It was still a long way to go until he recovered and was a healthy weight but at least he was going the right way.

Currently he was out in the yard with a bucket of soapy water at his feet, washing the Impala. He dipped the sponge in the water, and smiled lovingly at the beautiful car as he ran his sponge over the clean lines of her hood.

Dean's eyes turned to his reflection that appeared in the shiny surface. His smile fell, and he quickly averted his gaze away from the face that stared back at him, turning his full attention on his beloved car.

Suddenly he started feeling a little light-headed, so he dropped the sponge back into the bucket and turned away from the car, sliding down until he was sitting against the back door. He took a few deep breaths and closed his eyes, trying to get rid of the dizziness.

"Are you alright?" asked a worried Sam, walking out with a glass of water.

"Yeah. Just needed a break, that's all."

"Are you sure? Here, I've brought you some water," said Sam, sitting beside him, and giving him the glass.

"Thanks." Dean took a sip, and rested his head back against the Impala.

"Do you need any help?"

"You? You used to hate helping to wash the car when we were kids."

"Yeah, well I'm not a kid anymore. I can help if you want me to."

Dean thought about it, and shrugged. "You can if you want. I'm finished with my break anyway," he said, as he slowly stood back up. He picked up the sponge on his way, and started wiping it across the roof.

Sam picked up the spare sponge and made his way to the other side, and started washing. He smiled at his brother across the roof, Dean smiled back and the two continued in silence until Sam said he was going to the bathroom.

Dean was still facing the car when Sam quietly came back out with the garden hose. Without alerting Dean to his presence, he turned it on to let a stream of water hit him on the back.

Dean jerked away from the water, his jeans and shirts were instantly soaked, sticking to his skin like a second layer. Within a second, Dean turned around and with lightning fast reflexes, he picked up the bucket and poured the soapy water over Sam's head.

The yard was filled with the laughter of the two Winchesters as they started a water fight. Dean picked up the soaking wet sponges, and threw them at Sam's head, one of the soapy objects smacked him square in the face. It hung there for a moment before it succumbed to gravity, leaving behind a grinning, sputtering figure.

"You jerk," laughed Sam, dropping the garden hose.

Dean was laughing as he picked up the hose and got his revenge. "Payback, Sammy boy."

"DEEEEEAAAAAAN!"

"Are you going to whine or fight, bitch?"

The happy look on Dean's face made Sam's heart warm and a big grin to form on his own face. "Oh, I'll fight," he said, picking the sponges back up, and throwing them at Dean, while trying to avoid the spray of water.

Bobby came to the door, and stood with his hands on his hips, feeling like a parent to a pair of five year olds. "How old are ya both again?"

"He started it," said Dean, pointing at Sam, who was still laughing as if it was the funniest thing in the world.

Bobby shook his head, but he couldn't help but look amused at the pair. "When ya finish with the car, don't even think about coming in here with those clothes on and traipsing water around my house."

"Yes sir," said Dean, with a salute and a mischievous grin, making Bobby smile back.

"Just do it, idjit," he said, going back into the house.

After refilling the bucket once again with soapy water, the brothers continued washing the Impala. Dean started rubbing the sponge in slow circles on the windows and doors of the driver's side, while Sam washed the passenger's side.

Dean's eyes widened when he saw the splatter of bird droppings on the windshield and looked around for any possible culprits, but didn't see any birds around.

"I swear when I see those feathery winged rats, I'm going to blow their tiny frigging brains out," he grumbled, dipping the sponge back into the water, and scrubbing at the stain.

"There we go, baby. All clean again."

When the washing was complete, Dean lovingly waxed and polished her until the sun gleamed and shined on the black surface, making her shimmer like a black diamond.

Dean whistled and stroked his hands over the roof. "Looking good, baby."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Want me to go back inside so you can make out with her in peace?"

"Shh. Don't listen to him sweetheart. He doesn't understand us," Dean whispered, caressing the front door. "He's just jealous."

"Sure Dean. How about we get out of these wet clothes? We don't want you to get sick again."

"Yeah. I've got about five shirts on, and I think they're all moulded to my skin," said Dean, taking his outer layers off while he walked toward the house.

* * *

It was later in the day when Bobby took Dean for a ride in the Impala. The car was always the place where Dean and Bobby had their talks, but today there was another reason the older man wanted to go for a drive during the day instead of their usual nightly ride.

Bobby drove them to a huge abandoned parking lot, and stopped the car, before turning to look at Dean. "Ready to drive?"

Dean looked at him with huge eyes. "Seriously?"

"Yeah. There is nobody and nothing to bump into so ya can go as fast or slow as ya want and it wont matter. Just give me a warning if ya need to slam on the brakes if ya feel a little dizzy or anything. I don't feel like taking a dive through the windshield," he said making Dean laugh.

After switching places, Dean lovingly ran his hands around the wheel, caressing it as though it were the first time he had ever been behind the wheel of the beautiful car. He reached over to run his hand over the dashboard and felt the vibrations under his fingertips.

"I missed you too baby."

When he finished reuniting with his car, Dean looked at Bobby. "Thanks Bobby. This means... thanks."

"Don't mention it son. So are ya gonna start her up?" he asked with a smile.

Dean grinned back. "Like you need to ask," he said, as he revved the engine a few times, his smile widening at the familiar growl and rumble. He placed a tape into the cassette player and turned it up loud when highway to hell came blaring from the radio.

Dean smirked and shifted the car into gear and pressed his foot down on the pedal.

"...I'm on the highway to hell. No stop signs, speed limit. Nobody's gonna slow me down. Like a wheel, gonna spin it. Nobody's gonna mess me around," Dean sang along, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel and nodding his head. "Hey satan, paying my dues. Playing in a rocking band. Hey momma, look at me. I'm on my way to the promised land... I'm on the highway to hell, highway to hell..."

The roar of the engine could be heard over the loud music, making Dean grin again. He turned the wheel, so the car spun in a circle. "WOOOOOO!" he cheered, turning the wheel the other way.

Ebony paint and silver accents of the pristine chrome gleamed in the late afternoon sunlight. The 327 V8 under the hood roared with healthy joy, alerting anybody nearby to her presence. The smile was back on Dean's face as he drove his baby for the first time in 3 months.

The sight of Dean back behind the wheel where he belonged brought tears to Bobby's eyes. He just hoped that Dean didn't drive like a lunatic like he usually did, or they really would be on the highway to hell.

* * *

It was almost half an hour later when Dean pulled the car over, put her in park and shut off the motor. "I really needed this. It's not the same sitting in the passenger seat. I needed to drive her again," he whispered, stroking his fingers over the leather seats.

"Anytime. It was great to see ya back behind the wheel again."

"It was even better to  _be_  back behind the wheel again. It's only been a few months, but it seems like years."

"How did ya sleep last night after our drive?"

Dean shrugged. "Same as usual... Not much. I'm sick of dreaming about it every freaking night. I'm sick of seeing the yellow-eyed sonofabitch every single night tormenting me. He's not even dead, and it's like he's haunting me, or something."

Bobby placed his hand on Dean's shoulder. "When that Freddy Krueger wannabe starts tormenting ya, telling ya that yer better off dead, or yer not worth anything, or any of the other crap he says, ya have two choices... Listen and believe the lies, or quit and give up." Bobby squeezed his shoulder gently. "Or ya could tell the voices to shut the hell up."

"It's harder than you think. I'm sick of not sleeping and feeling tired all the time." He sighed and sank against the leather, laying his head back against the seat. "I'm just sick of it."

"I know son. I'll look through the rest of my books later to see if I can find a spell or something that can help ya. If I can't, then I'll find something else. Ya can't keep going like this."

"Yeah. The pills the doctor gave me the other day are supposed to help me sleep so deep that I don't dream, and they don't do jack. I swear if I don't get a good nights sleep soon, I'm going to go crazy."

"Well, ya already halfway there, so why not go the whole way," Bobby joked, making Dean smile.

The pair of them spoke about anything else they didn't want to talk about in-front of Sam, until they decided it was time to head back before Sam got worried.

Dean nodded and put his hands on the wheel. "Can I drive back home?"

"Uh..." Bobby chewed on his lip as he thought about it. "I'll let ya drive for five minutes, then I'll take over. I don't want ya over-doing it, and end up passing out at the wheel or something. Driving in a huge empty parking lot is a lot different from driving on a straight narrow road where there are other cars around."

"Okay." Dean shifted the car into gear, and slowly started directing the car back to the road and back home.

* * *

It was that night when Dean awoke from yet another nightmare, and decided to go downstairs for awhile. Instead of going out to his car, he headed downstairs to get a drink of water from the kitchen.

After filling up a glass, Dean sat down at the table where Sam had left his folder and notebooks. Opening up one of the pages at random, a few photos fell out onto the floor. When he reached over to pick them up, he felt a chill when he saw they were pictures of himself standing by the Impala as he slowly rebuilt her from scratch after the accident. He didn't even know these had been taken.

Flicking through the photos, Dean felt his eyes tear up as he saw the handsome man he used to be, slowly be replaced by the thin skeletal man he was now. It was almost as if rebuilding the Impala had somehow taken the life from Dean, so she could live again. In the earlier pictures, the Impala was wrecked, broken down, a shell of her former self. Dean was lean but muscular, tanned and healthy, his vibrant green eyes seemed to shine like emeralds.

But as he came closer to the end, the Impala was rebuilt and whole again, shining like the black diamond that she was, looking like she had just come from the showroom. But Dean looked like he was ready to go to the morgue, he was the one that looked like a shell of his former self, he was the one that was broken down, ready to just give up and die. The vibrant eyes changed to the dull lifeless eyes of a haunted man.

He stared at the last picture, which had been taken just a few weeks ago, holding it in one trembling hand. The bony face didn't even look like him anymore, it looked like a human skeleton had taken a mask of his own face and put it over his skull, and was wearing his clothes, taking his place, pretending to be Dean Winchester while the real one was trapped inside screaming and yelling to be let out.

Clenching his jaw, his breathing hitching with emotion, he started tearing the pictures up, he didn't want to look like that anymore. He wanted the 'real' Dean to be free, not the skeleton man that was walking around in his clothes, pretending to smile when all he wanted to do was cry, pretending to laugh when all he wanted to do was lay down and die.

When all the pictures were shredded, Dean started breathing heavily and allowed the tears to fall. Laying his head in his arms as they rested on the table, Dean broke down.

That was how Sam found him ten minutes later when he came down to find his missing brother. Frowning in concern, he walked over and sat in the chair beside Dean, placing his hand gently on his shoulder.

"Are you okay?"

Dean flinched and jerked away from whatever was touching him. He sighed in relief when he saw it was just Sam, who was looking at him with a concerned expression.

He looked down at the shredded pictures and nodded. "Yeah. I am now."

Sam saw the photos and his eyes widened. "Er... Dean? Why did you rip the pictures?"

"Because that's not me," he said, pointing at the skeletal image of himself. "I don't... I can't be like that anymore, it's not me... Not the real me." He looked up at Sam, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "That is not me. I don't want to look like that, I want... I need to be me again." Dean pointed towards the ceiling. "That picture in the bathroom, that's me. That's what I want to be again... Not him. I can't..." he trailed off, closing his eyes.

Sam smiled sadly and placed his hand over Dean's. "It's okay. I think I get it." He looked down at the pictures and an idea came to him, something he hoped would help his brother.

Without saying anything, Sam picked up the salt from the cupboard, the lighter fluid from the drawer and a pack of matches from the living room.

After placing the pictures in the empty trash can, he finally looked at Dean, who was watching him, looking puzzled. Sam smiled and started sprinkling the salt and lighter fluid over the shredded pictures in the bin.

"These pictures symbolise the you that wanted to die, if you Salt and burn him, that'll mean that part of you is dead." Sam held the matches out. "Get rid of him for good, so he doesn't come back."

A slow smile curved up the corners of Dean's mouth as he finally understood what Sam was talking about. He stood up and took the offered matches from Sam, turning to the trash can as it sat on the table. He had done hundreds, maybe thousands of salt and burns in his time, but this one was probably the most important one he had done in his life.

"I can't be you anymore," whispered Dean in a shaky voice. "I don't want to die... Maybe if I do this, you can finally be free. You can die in peace and let me live again." He struck the match and stared at the flame dancing in-front of his eyes.

Sam stood quietly at Dean's side, and watched him. No matter how much he wanted to help, he knew this was something Dean had to do by himself.

"Bye." Dean took a deep breath and threw the match into the trash can. He let out the breath with a sigh of relief, it was almost as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

As Dean watched the flames burning the photos, he decided to follow Bobby's advice. He would let the whispers of comfort and support of his family speak louder than the whispers of doubt and lies of his own mind- lies that had been whispered by the voice of a demon with the face of his father.

Instead of letting the voices in, and letting himself feel discouraged, from now on he would remind himself of how far he had come. He would remind himself that he was wanted, that he was loved. He would remind himself of the people who loved him, supported him, believed in him and encouraged him. He would no longer believe the lies that the demon whispered. He would not doubt himself, he would believe in himself. He would believe in his family. He would believe in the heart and determination that he had.

He would win.

As the two watched the fire, Sam placed his arm around Dean's shoulders. "Are you okay?"

Dean stood in silence for several minutes, before finally nodding. "Yeah. I think I needed to do this. I had to say goodbye to... to him," he said, pointing at the trash can. "Now, the part of me that wanted to die, can finally die. And the part that wants to live... can." He looked at Sam. "That makes me sound like I've got a split personality or something, doesn't it?"

Sam laughed. "Don't worry. I get what you mean. That part of you is gone, so the real you can start living again. That guy in the picture on the mirror can finally return. My strong big brother can finally be back to where he belongs... right here with me, instead of being trapped inside the mind and body of a man wanting to give up."

"I know that burning them isn't going to miraculously cure me and make me how I used to be, but at least I can sort of say goodbye to that part of me. I think now, I'll be able to put it behind me, and take that step forward and finally start to recover properly."

Sam squeezed Dean gently, letting him know that no matter what, he was going to be by his side.

"Some days are going to be a lot harder than others. It's going to be a long time before I'm fully 100% again. I mean, all those feelings of wanting to die... it was five long months, those feelings aren't easy to get rid of, but these past three months... they've been hard, and everyday I still struggle." Dean swallowed the lump in his throat, his eyes never looking away from the burning pictures. "But those hard days, I'm going to continue to remind myself of why I'm doing this. I'm going to yell that I want to live and get better again." A familiar smirk crossed Dean's face as he looked at Sam. "It's going to be a long road ahead, a road that'll seem to have no light at the end of it, but if we walk it together..."

"It's better than walking it alone. We'll get there in the end," Sam finished with a grin. "We'll finally reach that light... Together."

**TBC**


	27. Chapter 27

For the first time in months, Dean finally had a peaceful nights sleep. A few days ago, Bobby had asked a close friend, who was a white witch, to make a special dreamcatcher that would stop nightmares.

Sam had been reluctant to ask a witch to help his brother, but Bobby had assured him that he trusted her with his life and promised she was the only witch hunters trusted. Eventually, Sam agreed to let Bobby ask her for help.

After she made it for him, Bobby had spent the past two days adding more protection by placing several different anti-nightmare spells, charms and sigils on it. A devils trap and ' _Protect those who sleep beneath here_ ' had been sewn in Latin. Missouri had given them a silver angel that had a special charm inside it, which Bobby also attached to the dreamcatcher.

Bobby wasn't sure if everything was needed, but he wasn't willing to remove anything in-case that was the thing which allowed Dean to be nightmare-free.

It was midday and Dean was still asleep. Sam was worried as he checked his watch. "It's lunchtime. I'll go and wake him up."

"Sam..."

"He needs to eat. We can't let him go back to how he was."

"Give him an extra hour. Dean needs as much sleep as he can get. For the first time in months, he's able to sleep peacefully without being tormented. He's exhausted, Sam."

"You're right. I never realised how boring it is without Dean around."

"I know. It's so quiet."

"Dean has the best ideas to stop you from being bored. I still remember the board game Dean made up when we were kids. It was like snakes and ladders, but instead of ladders it was the Impala and there was a road you could drive up, and instead of snakes it was a pie that hit you and knocked you down the apple trail. He even made tiny cardboard cut-outs of us, and when we reached the top there was another cut-out of dad waiting for us. He called it 'Impiela'."

Bobby chuckled. "It reminds me of the time he broke his leg and six ribs, while ya were at college and he stayed with me. He designed a game of monopoly called 'Samonopoly'."

"He named it after me?"

"Yeah. He made an Impala, a shotgun, a pie, a beer bottle, and a bullet out of melted down silver. Ya had to go on hunts, and own the motels, and weapon stores where ya bought weapons. Ya got money from the hunts, weapon sales, and the motels where ya could charge how much ya wanted the others to pay for the night. Each monster gave ya a different amount of money and was killed with a certain weapon. It depended on which card ya picked up. He even made the weapons out of silver too. When ya went to jail, the other player would bust ya out. I think it was his way of still hunting when he was injured. It's in the attic, in a metal box."

"Great. We can play later."

* * *

An hour later, Sam entered the bedroom, and smiled when he saw Dean laying on his stomach with his head turned to the left and his arms and legs spread across the bed like a starfish.

Sam sat on the bed and watched him sleep for several minutes. It was probably creepy, but it was good to see the tiny smile cross Dean's peaceful face, instead of the frowns and grimaces.

After watching Dean sleep for several minutes, Sam decided to give him another hour.

Looking back at Dean one last time, Sam left so he could get more rest.

* * *

When Sam walked into the bedroom again, he saw that Dean had burrowed into his duvet. All he could see was the lump in the middle of the bed and a tuft of hair sticking out.

Sam gently shook the lump under the covers until it moved, and a tousled head appeared as Dean blinked blearily at him.

"What?"

"It's lunchtime."

Dean turned onto his back and stretched, rubbing his eyes sleepily. "Time 'zit?"

"Two in the afternoon."

"WHAT?" yelled Dean, shooting up in bed.

"Calm down. You needed the rest. Did you have a nice sleep?"

Dean was still shocked, but he relaxed back into the pillows. "Yeah. It was awesome. It was the best sleep ever."

"That's great. I'm glad it worked. Come get your lunch. I've made stew."

Dean threw the covers off, and slowly stood. "I need to take a leak."

"Okay. Come down when you're ready."

After Dean finished, he walked back into the bedroom to get his MP3 player and the music book he was learning from, before leaving the room.

When Bobby saw him enter the kitchen, he smiled. "Hey son. Have a good night?"

"It was awesome. The best nights sleep I've had in..." He shook his head as he sat at the table. "Actually I can't remember how long it's been since I slept that great. Thanks Bobby."

"Yer welcome. I'm glad ya had a decent nights sleep for once."

Dean nodded and took a drink of his orange juice, and picked up his spoon. He looked down at the bowl half-filled with stew and silently vowed to eat it all. Since burning the pictures a few nights ago, he seemed to be doing better, but he was nowhere near fully recovered yet.

"What song are you learning now?" asked Sam, putting Dean's anti-depressant beside his glass, and pointing at the book.

"I've been writing my own song. The book is helping me to get the right notes and chords to go with it."

"Really? You can play it for us when it's done."

"Okay, but it's terrible, and it's not finished yet," Dean told them, swallowing his second mouthful. "This is nice."

"I think we're getting the hang of this cooking thing now. Try to eat it all."

* * *

Later, Dean was up in his room, playing his guitar and working on his song. His whole bed was covered with sheets of paper he had written on, and two instruction books were left open beside him.

"I was just the shadow of the man I used to be,  
I was just waiting for the end to finally set me free.  
I tried to hide my pain, so I forced a smile onto my face,  
I never let the tears fall, I always held my mask in place.  
But underneath it all, I had nothing else to give,  
I could no longer go on when I had lost the will to live..."

Dean stopped singing and strumming the strings as he heard a strange growling sound and felt a weird sensation in his stomach- A feeling he hadn't felt for months. At first he thought it was those same pains he used to get when he didn't eat, but then he realised it felt a lot different from the pains that felt as if he had a dog using his insides as a chewtoy.

"Whoa," he whispered, placing one hand on his abdomen. He looked down when he heard those rumbling sounds again, it had been a long time since he heard those sounds. Even when Dean started recovering he only ate because he had to, but for the first time in months he actually felt hungry.

Dean lowered his guitar to the bed, before standing up and walking downstairs. As he stood at the kitchen door, he stared at the fridge as if it was an army of demons he had to exorcise. Clenching his jaw in determination, he walked over and opened the fridge with a shaky hand.

When Dean saw all the food in the fridge he suddenly felt overwhelmed as he felt the cold claws of panic start to scratch at his insides. His heart started slamming painfully against his ribcage, his body began to shake, and his breathing became unsteady. Dean closed his eyes as he backed away until he reached the counter, and sank to the ground. He dropped his head between his knees, clasping his trembling hands around the back of his neck. "Sonofabitch."

Knowing he had to get control of himself before it got worse, Dean started taking slow deep breaths. He took a deep breath in through his nose and let it out slowly through his mouth. Dean repeated the process several times, and eventually calmed down enough to start humming Metallica.

The tune still managed to comfort him, so he hummed the same few lines repeatedly, and slowly calmed himself down. The trembling in his hands receded to slight shakes and his breathing seemed to get easier, his heart calmed it's violent slamming and eased to the normal rhythm.

After several minutes, he had gotten himself under control, and worked up the courage to stand back up and walk over to the open fridge, which was filled with food.

"If living means I have to eat... then I have to be near food. I can do this," Dean whispered, reaching over for the sandwich meat. "I said goodbye to that part of me. He's gone." He tried to ignore the trembling in his hands as he picked up the bread, butter and a knife to make a sandwich.

Bobby walked into the kitchen with a cloth, cleaning the oil from his hands and came to a stop when he saw Dean was in there, making some food.

He stood at the kitchen door, watching Dean with a proud fatherly smile. Since Dean told him the reason why he was so nervous around food, it made more sense to him, and it made him more proud that Dean was around food without being asked. He remembered when he asked Dean to help make pie with him a few weeks ago, he only managed to cut one and a half apples, before it got too much and Bobby had to take over. That time, he had Bobby with him for support, but this time Dean was doing this alone, and it was a big accomplishment.

Bobby noticed every now and then Dean would stop, and put the knife down, before closing his eyes, and placing his hands on the counter. Dean let his shoulders sag forward, and his head hang down as he started humming quietly, taking deep breaths as he did so. Bobby realised it was his way of coping with being around so much food at once.

At the counter, Dean was doing his best to stay in control and continued to remind himself he was recovering, and not going back down to the bottom of the mountain he was slowly climbing. Everything in him wanted to drop the meat and bread onto the floor and turn away, but each time he thought about putting the knife down and giving up, his eyes would drift to the salt shaker on the counter, and he would be reminded of the salt and burn he did a few nights ago with Sam. He had taken the biggest step forward to true recovery, and he wasn't going back.

That part of him was dead, and he intended to keep it that way.

Sam came downstairs, still wet from his shower, and was about to go into kitchen. He frowned in confusion when Bobby suddenly grabbed his arm. When he looked at Bobby, he pointed at Dean who was still slowly making a sandwich.

If it was anyone else it wouldn't be a big deal but for Dean it was a huge accomplishment. Sam swallowed the sudden lump in his throat and blinked back the tears as he continued watching Dean.

When Dean finished, he placed the sandwiches on a plate and turned around, and was surprised to see Sam and Bobby standing there smiling at him. He lifted the plate slightly, which had three sandwiches on it. "I made us food."

Sam rushed over and threw his arms around Dean. He blinked rapidly to get rid of the tears, not wanting Dean to see how emotional he was over watching him do something so simple as making a sandwich.

"I'm so proud of you right now," Sam whispered, holding him for a few more seconds. He pulled away, and laughed at Dean's expression.

"Well done son."

Dean's cheeks coloured slightly as he looked down, suddenly feeling embarrassed at all the attention. He stepped away from the two men and placed the plate on the table, and sat down to pick up one of the small triangle pieces.

Sam and Bobby joined him and picked up their own sandwiches, both still smiling as they reminded themselves who made them. If anyone saw them all getting so excited and emotional over a sandwich they would probably think the whole family was crazy, but they didn't know how much of a big deal this really was.

They ate in silence, both Sam and Bobby kept shooting glances at Dean to make sure he really was alright, and so far he seemed to be in control as he ate his sandwich.

* * *

After they finished eating, Bobby suggested they play 'Samonopoly'. Sam offered to get the game, so after Bobby told him where it was, he went up to the attic to find it.

Bobby turned to Dean. "How was it taking another step forward earlier... making the sandwich?"

"It was weird. But I did it," he said with a proud grin. He sighed and looked down at his hands. "To be honest, it took everything I had not to drop everything and get the hell out of there."

"But ya didn't. Ya did it."

Dean nodded. "It's weird. Being around food never used to bother me, but for the past few months, I don't want to be anywhere near it. It was bad enough when me and Sammy went to the store... At least I didn't have to get too close to the food, or when I managed to cut that apple for the pie..."

"One and a half," Bobby interrupted. "And they were the biggest apples I could find, so ya did pretty good."

Dean shrugged. "Okay, one and a half apples, then you had to do the other three. But this was a hundred times worse. Don't get me wrong, I'm slowly getting there, but I think it'll be awhile before I'm ready to do it again."

"It's okay. Just take each step at yer own pace. Nobody will rush ya into recovering faster than ya ready."

"I thought I  _was_  ready, but when it came to it, it was harder than I thought. It was like I was back to where I started, when I saw all the food in the fridge, it brought back all the old thoughts and feelings I had... Avoid food, so I would die quicker. Don't eat, or it'll slow it down. I kinda freaked out a little." Dean sighed and shook his head. "It sounds pathetic. I mean, getting freaked out over making a sandwich. I had to practically force myself to do it. That's so different from how I used to be, huh?"

"It seems hard now, but given time yer gonna be able to do it with no problems. Sam and I will continue making the meals until yer ready... and not a second before. If I find out ya started rushing and forcing yerself to do something yer not ready for, I'll be getting the shotgun out."

Dean laughed. "Okay. No rushing." He was silent for a few minutes, and placed his hand over his stomach again. "It's been awhile since I actually felt hungry. At first I didn't realise what the hell it was, but when I did it was a weird feeling. Usually when I eat, it's because I have to, but today I actually felt hungry. It's a good sign too, right? That I'm going forward, not backward."

Bobby smiled at the look on Dean's face, he looked like a child seeking his father's approval. "It's an awesome sign. Two steps in one day- feeling hungry, and being near food. It means yer getting there... Slowly, but yer getting there."

"I can do it. I think saying goodbye to that part of me was the big step forward I needed."

"It might have been yer first and biggest step towards yer goal of making a full recovery."

"Yeah. When we burned the pictures, I kept thinking if I didn't take that step forward, I would always be in the same place. I've been doing better since we were at the cabin, after I realised I didn't want to die anymore. But I didn't always finish my meals, and since saying 'goodbye' to that part of me, I can finish them. I still can't eat a lot, but at least I manage to finish."

"Yer doing great. Every finished meal, no matter how small it is, is an amazing accomplishment."

"It's like a giant weight has been lifted from my shoulders. I've been able to eat better and sleep better. Between that night and two nights ago, I didn't listen to him. It was hard, but I decided to take your advice and listen to you and Sammy. I decided to fight back and take control. No matter how hard it was, I refused to listen to him. And last night... for the first time in over eight months, he was gone. He wasn't whispering in my ear, telling me I was worthless and I deserved to die. He wasn't telling me that you and Sammy would be better off without me, that you didn't care." Dean let out a relieved sigh. "He wasn't tormenting me. I was free." He looked at Bobby with tearful eyes. "I'm finally free."

Bobby squeezed Dean's shoulder. "I just wish I thought of it earlier."

"It's better late than never. But after all this time, I can finally see the glimmer of light at the end of the long dark tunnel."

"Good. Don't take any steps back, okay?"

"Don't worry. I don't plan on it. Only steps forward this time. I've got you and Sammy with me, and going on our drives, and playing my guitar helps clear my head. Every single day is still really hard, and without you guys..."

"We're not going anywhere. We'll be right here to take every step with ya. If ya need to talk or go for a drive, come straight to me."

"I will, you're like my therapist or something. I should start paying you," he joked, wiping his face.

"Okay, I'll take a $1,000 an hour," he said with a wink, making him laugh.

Sam interrupted the moment by walking in carrying the metal box. "I found it."

Dean opened the box, and lifted the big square game board out, which was made of wood. A thin plastic layer had been placed over the top to protect the photos of wendigos, vampires, witches and other supernatural beings which had been glued to the board. The money and dice were the only things from a real monopoly game. The cards were laminated and in two colours- The black cards were marked 'Winchester', and told you which weapon you used to kill the monsters and how much money it was worth, and the navy cards were 'Colt'- for everything else, including the jail card.

"Okay. This might be confusing at first, but it's easy once ya get the hang of it," Bobby told Sam, giving each of them some money and leaving the rest in the middle for the 'hunting fund'.

Dean placed the tiny weapons in different piles beside the weapon squares where you built the stores. Bobby placed the cards in the middle, and picked up the tiny beer bottle.

"Baby's mine," said Dean, picking up the silver Impala.

"I choose the shotgun."

When everything was set up, Bobby looked over at Dean, who was staring down at the board. "Dean?" he asked, noticing that he was looking at the photo of yellow eyes.

Dean's eyes narrowed as he stared at the hated yellow eyes that seemed to mock him.  _'They don't need you, not like you need them_.' He clenched his jaw angrily, and walked to the kitchen drawer to get a permanent marker. He sat at the table and started scribbling over the plastic, changing the yellow eyes to the black eyes of a regular demon.

Sam and Bobby were watching him with concern. Neither man had to ask what he was doing.

When Dean finished, he closed his eyes and placed his elbows on the table and rested his forehead on the palms of his hands, taking deep breaths to steady himself.

"Are you alright?"

Dean was silent for several seconds, before looking up. "I am now. I just... I couldn't have those eyes staring at me again." He shook his head and picked up the dice. "Are you guys ready?"

"I think so," said Sam, sorting his money into piles.

"We'll explain as we go along, but if you land on a monster, and you haven't got the weapon the 'Winchester' card tells you to use, you have to give some money to the hunting fund." He pointed at the pile of money beside the 'W' and 'C' cards. "If you have the weapon, kill it and you'll get a certain amount of money written on the card. If you go to jail, Bobby or I will break you out. You can build weapon stores which are the red houses, and motels which are green."

"Uh... Okay." Sam looked at Bobby uncertainly.

"Don't worry. It's not as hard as it sounds."

"I hope you're both prepared to lose. I am the master at this game," said Dean with a grin.

"Ya would be since ya always changed the rules every time we played."

"I'm not that bad," laughed Dean, throwing the dice. "Ooh four. Come on baby." He moved the silver car four places and landed on 'Metallica' avenue. "Okay. I'm buying this, and building a motel here. It'll be called 'rock n roll dream' and will be $10 a night."

* * *

As they continued playing the game, the kitchen was filled with their laughter as they enjoyed themselves.

It was now Sam's turn and he picked up a blue card. "Dammit. 'No stop signs, speed limits. You're on the highway to jail'."

"Again? I swear you love that place Sammy. It's the third time you've been there."

"Shut up," laughed Sam, heading to jail.

"Okay. I can bust you out." Dean checked his weapon pile and saw he had 3 rocket launchers. "I can blow the place up with a rocket launcher. Stand back Sammy," said Dean, aiming at the jail square and making exploding noises. "Whoohoo." He nodded at Sam and whistled the 'Great escape' theme.

"Thanks."

Bobby landed on 'Shoot to thrill'- one of Dean's 3 weapon stores. "How much for the knife?"

"$1,000."

"Seriously? It was $50 earlier. I'm not surprised yer winning if ya keep charging prices like that."

Dean sighed dramatically. "Fine. I'll let you have the knife for $60."

"Sold," he said, exchanging the money for the weapon.

Dean grinned happily as he added to his huge pile of money. "Told you I am the master of this game."

"I'm surprised we're still playing," said Sam. "Usually when we play monopoly, you lose interest after fifteen minutes. We've been playing for over an hour so far."

"Yeah, but this isn't regular monopoly. It's 'Samonopoly,'" said Dean, landing on a photo of a ghost. "Okay. I'm fighting Casper with..." He picked up a 'W' card and read the instructions. "A grenade? How the hell am I supposed to kill a ghost with a grenade?" He shrugged and threw one of his grenades at the ghost and started making dramatic wailing noises as it 'died'.

"Right. The bitch is dead so I made... $35," he said, counting out the right amount of money from the fund.

* * *

Sam checked his watch and was shocked at the time. "Guys. It's 11.15."

"And?" asked Dean, giving Bobby some money to stay at his motel.

"It's late. Shouldn't we get some sleep?"

"Why? Since when have we had a bedtime?"

"We don't. I'm only saying it's late," he said, rolling the dice, and counting the squares to land on a monster. "I have to kill a vampire with... salt."

Dean laughed. "Salt on a vamp? Good luck there, they'll probably use it to make you extra tasty when they're using you as a snack."

"Shut up jerk." Sam counted out the $40 from his own money to give to the hunting fund since he used his salt earlier on a ghost.

"We'll go until midnight, and then we'll turn in," said Bobby, watching Dean take his turn.

Dean landed on Sam's weapon store, and checked which weapons were sold. "Sammy, how much is your rifle?"

"$50."

Dean nodded, counting the money out. "There you go." They made the sale and Dean added the new weapon to his pile.

* * *

When it struck midnight, they cleared the game up and placed it into the metal box. Dean was the clear winner, he had the most money, weapons, 4 weapon stores and 5 motels.

They had played for over three hours, which was a record for Dean. Sam liked it so much he asked if they could play it again tomorrow.

"You really liked it?"

"Yeah. It was a lot of fun."

"Okay. It's my only way of hunting right now," said Dean, placing his hands against his spine, and leaning backwards slightly, producing a loud cracking sound.

"Will you quit doing that before you snap yourself in two?"

"My back was aching from sitting so long." Dean finished stretching and grinned. "I'm actually looking forward to going to sleep tonight. I'm free from nightmares and it's awesome."

The other two smiled at the happy look on Dean's face.

"Come on, let's go up," said Sam, waiting for Dean to finish filling a glass of water to take with him. When he finished, the two walked upstairs together.

"Night Bobby," Dean called over his shoulder.

"Night boys."

As Dean walked into the bedroom, his eyes were drawn to the rifle that was mounted on the wall above his bed, and a smile formed on his lips when he saw the plaque saying  ** _'Deans Winchester'._**

When Sam climbed into bed, he turned to Dean and snuggled down into his pillows. "Night Dean."

"Night Sammy," Dean whispered, placing the water on the bedside table beside his Impala model, and turned the lamp off. He looked up at the dreamcatcher over his bed, and burrowed down into the covers, and smiled at the sensation of slipping down into the welcoming arms of sleep, surrounded by warmth and softness, happy and secure as a little boy in his mother's arms.

**TBC**


	28. Chapter 28

As the days passed, Dean seemed to become more withdrawn and quiet. He was hardly talking and started eating less and less, until one day he didn't eat anything at all.

That night Dean couldn't sleep, and walked downstairs and into the kitchen. He stood at the sink, looking out into the night sky, up at the stars high above him.

After staring outside almost like he was in a trance for over five minutes, he shook himself and opened the cupboard where the older man kept his alcohol. Dean picked up the half-full bottle and took the lid off, drinking straight from the bottle.

After awhile, he started feeling weird, his hand started shaking and he felt light headed and drowsy as if he was on drugs. He shook his head and dropped the bottle into the sink, before he grabbed the counter with his trembling hands, his head hanging forward.

"Dammit." All he wanted to do right now was get drunk and block everything out. Tomorrow was going to be a hard day and he needed something to help him get through it.

Wondering why he was feeling so crappy, Dean stumbled to the kitchen table where he sat down and slumped forward, resting his arms on the table and his head against his arms.

After he started feeling less light-headed, he reached over for Sam's laptop, which had been left there the night before. When the laptop booted up, he quickly searched for the symptoms.

"Anti-depressants," he mumbled, clicking on one of the links. When he saw the article about mixing anti-depressants with alcohol, he closed his eyes. "Sonofabitch. I can't even get drunk."

His eyes caught on other links about depression and his hand hovered over the touchpad hesitantly. Even though he was the one who was depressed he had never searched for anything to do with the signs or symptoms.

Dean sat there for several minutes with the mouse over the link, but eventually he shook his head and shut down the page. He still wasn't ready yet.

He stayed up playing games on Sam's laptop fighting the temptation to drink, until he was so tired he could hardly keep his eyes open.

* * *

***The next morning***

* * *

"I'm worried about Dean," said Sam, standing with Bobby at the kitchen window as they watched Dean, who was sitting on the hood of his car, looking up at the sky with his arms wrapped around his thin body.

"And that's different from any normal day, how?" Bobby asked, turning on the coffee machine.

"Okay. I'm even more worried than I usually am. He's been really quiet and distant these past few days," he said as he watched Dean drop his head into his hands, a sad expression on his face, his shoulders trembling. "He didn't even eat yesterday, he just moved the food around the plate to make it look like he did." He looked at Bobby with a scared expression. "You don't think he..."

"He's going back to how he was? No way. Not after all the progress he's made. If he was struggling he'd come to me." As he turned to the table behind him to grab his cup, the date on the newspaper caught his attention. After a few seconds of staring at the date, the reason it seemed familiar came to him. "Hells bells."

"What?" asked Sam, confused as to why Bobby was quoting AC/DC songs at him.

"I know what's wrong."

"What? You don't think he's sick, do you?"

"No. What day is it?"

"Er... Thursday?"

"It's John's birthday. It's the first one since he died and I think Dean's having a difficult time coping right now."

"Oh no. It's the last thing Dean needs. What do we do?"

"Be here for him and keep a close eye on him." Bobby saw the panicked look on Sam's face and was quick to reassure him. "I don't think he will go back, not with all the steps forward he's taken. But it's better to be safe than sorry."

Sam nodded and gave a cup to Bobby. "Can you fill this up? I'll take it out to Dean and try to get him to talk to me," he said, grabbing his hoodie from the washing basket.

Bobby handed him the full cup of hot coffee. "Make sure he knows yer there for him and don't let him pretend there's nothing wrong. He's bottled enough up, it's not good for him. If something is bothering him, he needs to let it out."

"Okay," said Sam as he walked outside.

Bobby stood by the window and watched Sam walk towards Dean and give him the coffee before wrapping the black hoodie around his bony shoulders.

"How are you feeling?" asked Sam, fussing over his brother, before sitting beside him.

Dean wrapped his hands around the hot cup and shrugged. "Fine," he said, and took a sip of his coffee.

"You don't look fine to me. These past couple of days, you've been really quiet. I'm worried."

Dean turned to Sam, one eyebrow raised. "That's different from any normal day, how?"

Sam laughed. "That's what Bobby said."

A tiny smile twitched up the sides of Dean's mouth, as he turned away again.

"Dean, I... I know it's dad's birthday." He saw Dean tense up and heard him gasp, before he covered it up with a cough.

"And?" Dean asked, staring down at the steam coming from the coffee as if it fascinated him.

"I know today can't be easy for you." Sam continued staring at him, as he sat quietly. He put his hand on Dean's shoulder and squeezed gently. "You can talk to me, you know. I know I'm not Bobby, but any time you need to talk, I'll be right here to listen."

"But I'm the oldest. I'm supposed to be the strongest."

"Dean, talking and needing help doesn't make you weak. You're the strongest person I know. You'll never be weak in my eyes. You're my strong big brother and you always will be. If you ever want to talk... about anything, I'll be there to listen."

As he sipped his coffee, Dean debated with himself about whether or not he should open up to Sam. Bobby was the one he mostly spoke to, he didn't want to bore or burden his little brother with his problems or how he was feeling. Dean squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw. But if he wanted to fully recover, he had to talk to Sam too. It wasn't fair to Sam, to keep him in the dark about how he really felt, but still expect him to help him through this.

The brothers sat together for several minutes. Dean continued drinking his coffee, while Sam watched him closely to make sure he was doing alright.

It was Dean who broke the silence as he spoke softly, still not looking at Sam. "Since all this started, this is the worst day. I mean, I was able to celebrate my birthday, but dad can't celebrate his and I... It's hard to deal with, you know?"

"I know. But you're not, you know..."

"What?"

"You're still getting better, right? You're not thinking about..."

"Giving up? Hell no."

Sam sighed in relief. "I'm glad you said that. I barely slept these past couple of nights, worrying you weren't taking your anti-depressant anymore and you were becoming depressed again."

"I may not be all happy happy, joy joy right now, but I'm still climbing. And I'll get to the top eventually. But if I start to stumble, grab my arm and pull me back up, okay?"

"Okay. But if you do stumble or fall, you can always fall against me," said Sam, gently nudging Dean's shoulder with his own. "I'll always catch you."

They fell into silence once again, both enjoying the rare nice weather and each others company. As Dean watched the clouds make their way across the sky, it reminded him of what his dad always said when he asked about where Mary was- She was high above the clouds in a special place watching over him, and when the stars came out at night, she was one of those special stars that shone the brightest.

"I remember Mom's first birthday after she died. I still wasn't talking, even though dad tried over and over to get me to. I made her a special present and a card and I started packing a bag with some clothes, cookies, a teddy bear and other toys." He looked at Sam, who looked confused. "I was packing supplies to take a trip up to heaven to bring mom back home with us again."

Sam's heart broke for the innocent little boy his brother once was.

"Of course I didn't understand I'd have to die to go there. I thought it was a special place where the Angels stayed until their families came to get them again... Kinda like when mom came to pick me up from kindergarten. Dad said heaven was up in the sky above all the clouds, so I wanted to go on a plane and fly up to heaven to bring her back and then I wouldn't be sad or scared anymore and dad would smile again."

Dean turned slightly and discreetly wiped his eyes. "I used to sit outside, and stare up into the sky, hoping mom would see me all the way up there," he whispered, his watery green eyes staring up into the sky like they did all those years ago. "At night I sat at the window and wave at this huge star that was always outside, looking down on me. In my mind, it was mom watching over me like she always said the angels did. But it wasn't the same. I missed her and wanted her back so much I was willing to go up to heaven to do that. Sounds pathetic, right?

"No. It sounds like a little boy who wanted back the one person he loved most of all."

"This time is different. Dad's in Hell and I can't do a thing about it."

"It wasn't your fault."

Dean looked at Sam and stared at him for such a long time that Sam was worried he was going to say it was, but was surprised when Dean nodded. "I know."

Sam smiled. "That's the first time I've ever heard you say that."

"It's the first time I've ever said it. For a long time, I had thoughts running through my head like 'It's my fault dad's dead,' 'He's dead because of me,' 'I should've died not him.' But now after all this time, I realise I'm not to blame. It's not my fault." A wash of tears made him see Sam's face as if through the windshield of a car in a rainstorm. "It's not my fault, Sammy."

Sam wrapped his arms around him and gave him a hug. "There's nobody to blame but the demon."

"I know it's not my fault _,_ but that guilty feeling still lingers deep down. I can't get rid of it, and I don't know why."

"Guilt is one of the worst emotions to feel and one of the toughest to overcome," Sam whispered against Dean's hair.

"I hate it. I hate knowing what he did. I hate knowing he died and went to hell so I could live. I hate that dad's gone, but I'm still here." He sighed softly. "It's hard, Sammy."

"I know," whispered Sam, squeezing him gently. He decided to change the subject to take Dean's mind off it. "Hey Dean? What happened to your trip to heaven?"

Dean cleared his throat and pulled away. "Dad found out. We were staying with Bobby for a few days and one of his neighbours saw me walking down the street, with a bag packed and a teddy bear in my arms, and took me in. Her husband was a friend of Bobby's and he called him up to tell him."

"Dad didn't do anything, did he?"

"Like what?"

"Yell at you. Hit you."

"No. I was sitting on Bobby's couch, and crying. Dad was sitting with me, trying to get me to talk and tell him why the neighbour found me walking down the street. He gave up after half an hour, but then you looked up at me with this big happy grin and started babbling, 'Dee-dee-dee'. It was your first word. I thought you was trying to say 'Dad', but he said you were saying my name. I sat there looking at you, and then I walked over to the window and looked up. As I stood there, I suddenly knew mom wouldn't want me to be sad or scared. She would want me to be happy and brave and she'd want me to be your big brother and to do that I had to be brave."

Dean smiled. "She always called me her special brave little soldier. I decided to make her proud and be her brave little soldier again. I smiled up into the sky, and then turned to you and called you 'Sammy' and you looked at me like I was the greatest thing in the world and wouldn't stop saying 'Dee-dee-dee'. Dad finally smiled and hugged me, and I didn't feel so sad or scared anymore."

A huge smile lit up Sam's face. "You were my first word? What was yours?"

Dean cleared his throat and looked away. "Er... Pie."

Sam burst out laughing. "Why doesn't that surprise me?"

"Shut up bitch," said Dean, gently punching Sam in the shoulder.

"Jerk."

Still looking up, Dean continued, "At the end of the day, dad took us out to get pie to celebrate her birthday. Mom loved baking, but pie was her favourite, and she made the best pie ever," he said with a grin.

Sam smiled, suddenly understanding why Dean loved pie so much. Every time he ate pie, he was probably always reminded of Mary and the happier times he had with her before she died. When they were back on the road, and Dean asked him to get him some pie, Sam was going to get him some. If something so simple would make Dean happy, then Sam would do it.

"We sang happy birthday. Then dad bought a pink balloon and tied the present and card to the string and I let it float up into the sky. I asked mom if she was proud of me... and the sun suddenly came out. The weather was terrible that day, but at that moment, the sun shone so bright it nearly blinded me. I don't know if it was a coincidence or if it was her answer, but... I hoped it was. That night as dad tucked me in, he even sang 'hey jude'." He wrinkled his nose slightly. "His singing was terrible, but I missed mom singing it to me every night, and it made me smile."

Sam's heart warmed at the sweet thing John did for Dean that day, to make him feel better about Mary's first birthday without her. It gave him an idea he hoped Dean would like. "Why don't we do something for dad later?"

"Like what? You're not going to sing at me are you?"

Sam laughed. "No don't worry. You're safe."

"Thank god." Dean thought it was a great idea to do something for their dad. They didn't really celebrate birthdays, but Dean hoped it would lessen the remaining feelings of the guilt he still felt.

Sam turned serious again. "Hey Dean. I bet mom is proud of you. She's probably up there, looking down on you, feeling like the proudest mom in the whole world. And even though he never said it, dad was proud too." Seeing the look of doubt on Dean's face, Sam shook his head. "Dad was proud of you, Dean. And so am I. I'm proud to have you as my brother. I know we don't get to choose our own families, but if I had a choice of big brothers and I could pick who I wanted, I'd choose you, every time."

Dean swallowed heavily around the sudden lump in his throat. "Thanks Sammy," he whispered, thinking the same thing. He wouldn't change his little brother for the world.

* * *

Two hours later, Dean was sitting on the couch with his guitar. Playing his guitar was like therapy to Dean, it helped to clear his head. He hadn't had any time to himself since that morning, Sam and Bobby weren't willing to let him out of their sight so he wasn't allowed any privacy to play his guitar in peace.

Everything was set up and he was waiting nervously for Sam and Bobby to be ready. Even though he had worked hard on the song for the past two weeks, he didn't think he was ready to play his song for anyone yet, but Sam kept asking if they could hear it and he agreed, though reluctantly.

"If it's crap, tell me." Dean put his head down, and strummed a few chords as he hummed along to the first notes.

"I was just the shadow of the man I used to be,  
I was just waiting for the end to finally set me free.  
I tried to hide my pain, so I forced a smile onto my face,  
I never let the tears fall, I always held my mask in place.  
But underneath it all, I had nothing else to give,  
I could no longer go on when I had lost the will to live.  
I felt the darkness and the emptiness as they pulled me down, I just wanted to end it all,  
I no longer had the strength to fight, so I stood on the edge and I let myself fall.  
I was just a shadow falling down a long dark hole, never once did I look back,  
I was just waiting until the end, so I could close my eyes and finally fade to black.  
It was my family who pulled me up, and finally pulled me through,  
They made me want to live again when I no longer wanted to.  
They caught me when I fell, and gave me a reason to go on,  
They showed me I was loved, and gave me the strength to be strong.  
They spoke louder than the whispers in my head,  
They stopped the voices that said I should have stayed dead.  
They pulled me away from the darkness, and led me back into the light,  
They took away the emptiness, and gave me the will to fight.  
I'm no longer the shadow of the man I used to be,  
I'm no longer waiting for the end to finally set me free."

When Dean looked up, he saw Sam had tears sliding down his cheeks and Bobby's eyes looked wet and shiny. "I know it's terrible, but there's no need to cry about it."

Sam sniffled. "It's really sad. I can't believe we didn't notice you struggling so much."

"It's not your fault," whispered Dean, his fingers still moving along the strings.

"Maybe not. But if we had realised a few months earlier, if we got you help back then, maybe you wouldn't be as bad as you are now."

Bobby wrapped one arm around Dean's shoulders. "At least we found out before it was too late. I couldn't bear the thought of something happening to ya."

Dean laid his head on Bobby's shoulder. "I'll be okay... eventually."

Sam shifted closer, careful of Dean's guitar and wrapped his arms around him, completing the hug. "Did you mean what you said at the end? You're no longer the shadow of the man you used to be?"

Dean didn't answer for a few seconds, but then he smiled. "Yeah. I may not be the man I once was... yet. But I'm no longer the shadow of that man. The old Dean's coming back, slowly but he'll be back."

"I can't wait."

* * *

Later, Bobby took Dean on their nightly drive. Bobby drove him to the huge abandoned parking lot, and allowed him the opportunity to drive his beloved car again.

Every time Bobby saw the happy joyful smile, his heart always filled with love and affection for the young man, who was the closest thing he had to a son. He would do anything to put that look on Dean's face and would make sure nothing took that happiness away from him.

After twenty minutes, Dean pulled over and stroked his hands over the wheel, smiling softly as his baby continued purring softly.

"Are ya doing okay?"

Dean sank back into the seat. "I think so. Today has been hard, but I'm getting through it." He yawned suddenly and rubbed his eyes sleepily. "Damn. I'm tired."

"The dreamcatcher's still working, right?"

"Yeah. The past couple of nights I haven't slept much, but it's nothing to do with nightmares. I haven't had a bad dream since it's been above my bed. It's great going to sleep and not having to worry if I'm going to be tormented. When I had nightmares, it was like a pair of invisible hands were flicking through my worst memories like they were playing cards. As they shuffled through them, each card had one of the things I feared the most and the demon would use them to taunt me... Over and over, every night."

"But not anymore."

"Not anymore," Dean agreed with a grin.

The two sat quietly, until Dean cleared his throat. "Hey Bobby? You think dad was proud of me?"

"Of course he was. What made ya ask that?"

Dean shrugged. "Sam said it earlier. But in my whole life, he never said he was proud of me. The one time he did, it wasn't him... It was the demon. That's how I knew... He said he was proud of me, and I knew he was possessed." He turned to Bobby with tears in his eyes. "He finally said the one thing I always wanted him to say, and it wasn't him."

Bobby placed his hand on Dean's shoulder. "Listen son. Yer dad was proud, I saw it in his eyes whenever he talked about ya. He had this happy look in his eyes and a fond smile on his face, the kind any proud father wears. I know, because it's the look I have on my face whenever I look at ya. I've been proud of ya since the day ya turned six and helped me fix yer first car, and I've been proud of ya ever since. Don't think for a single second we don't love ya or we're not proud of ya. We may not always say it, but we always feel it."

A single tear fell down Dean's cheek, but he shakily wiped it away. "Dammit Bobby. Why do you always have to make me cry?"

Bobby chuckled. "Come here, ya big wuss," he said, pulling him into his arms.

"Thanks Bobby," Dean whispered, his trembling arms wrapping around Bobby.

"Yer welcome son."

When they pulled away, Bobby smiled. "Enough with the chick-flick moment before we start singing Kumbaya and braiding each others hair."

Dean laughed. "Or we could go get Sam and braid his hair."

Bobby chuckled again. "Well, it's long enough. Are ya ready for me to drive us back yet?"

"Not yet. Can we sit here a little longer?"

"We'll stay as long as ya need."

* * *

When they got back to the house, Bobby started making a pie. Sam took Dean to the area in Bobby's yard where they had buried John's remains after they salted and burned him. Dean had refused to go anywhere near the 'grave' since that day, but Sam hoped it would make Dean feel better.

It was near the back of Bobby's yard, close to where the old cars were. They wanted to have John's remains close to them, so he would be near his family, and Bobby's house was somewhere they both felt like they would always be welcome.

When he saw the small rock with a carving of a car on it, Dean fell to his knees and stared at the rock, not moving, not saying a word. The remains of his dad's body were underneath that rock, but his soul was much further down- Somewhere neither of them could reach.

After two minutes, he couldn't stand looking down any longer, and he looked up even though he knew John wasn't up there. "Hey dad," he whispered, looking up at the stars. "I know you're not up there, but I can't do this while thinking about where you really are right now." Dean's gaze shifted from one star to the next. "Happy birthday, dad. I know you won't exactly be holding any celebrations down in... where you are, but we can celebrate for you."

Sam stood close by in-case Dean needed him.

"I miss you. Sometimes I wish you hadn't done what you did. I still don't think I'm worth dying for... worth going to hell for. If you'd let me go, you'd still be here. And I... I'd be gone. I don't want to kid myself about where I'd end up, because most likely I'd be where you are right now. But a tiny part of me hopes maybe I could've been worthy enough to be with mom." Dean ran his fingers over the white rock.

"These past eight and half months have been the hardest of my life, especially those first five months. It felt like my strength, my spirit, and my energy was spent. The struggle to live each day was a pain I no longer wanted. As each day passed, the closer I was to dying... and I was glad to be rid of it." Dean's breathing hitched slightly. "I wasn't even scared. I knew no matter where I went, I'd either see you or mom again. It was the only thing I had to look forward to."

Sam bit his trembling lower lip as he listened to him talk like that. The more he heard about how much Dean struggled and suffered alone, the more his heart broke.

"But Sammy and Bobby found out and they're helping me through it. It's been difficult, but I am getting better. Slowly. It'll take a long time, but I can do this. One of the things you taught me was to never give up, to be strong, to fight with everything you have no matter what. There's been so many times I've almost given up. So many times I haven't had the strength to fight. But Sammy and Bobby give me that strength, they're the reason I'm still fighting." He smiled fondly. "You'd be proud of Sammy for how strong he's been. He's been right here for me, to help me when I need him. He needs a haircut before he starts looking like cousin itt, but you'd be proud."

Sam laughed at the teasing as he ran his fingers through his hair.

Dean's smile fell. "I'm trying not to feel guilty about you being gone. They've told me so many times... I  _know_  it's not my fault, but guilt is like a dog playing with it's favourite toy, and it doesn't want to let go. You sold your soul for me. You died, so I could live and it's hard to live with that, but I'm trying."

He sniffled and wiped his nose on his sleeve. "When I was in hospital, I was ready to go. It was Sammy who said you didn't give up your life so I could give up mine too. You did it so I could live... and I'm finally ready to do that. You gave life to me not once, but twice. And I'll do my best to prove I deserve that second chance." Dean lowered his head, looking down at the rock marking John's 'grave'. "Goodnight dad," he whispered, not ready to say goodbye.

After Dean fell silent, Sam stepped forward and placed his hand on Dean's trembling shoulder. "It's okay."

* * *

When they went back inside, Bobby was waiting for them with three beers. While they waited for the pie to cook, he decided to have a toast in John's memory.

Dean sat at the table and was looking at the beer as if an alien had suddenly appeared in-front of him. His hand was shaking as he pulled it towards him, holding it tightly in both hands. Before he started recovering, he had no problem drinking away his problems, but after the previous night, he knew it wasn't a good idea to drink when taking anti-depressants.

"I can't drink that," he said, moving it across the table so he wasn't tempted.

"Why?"

"The pills. I can't drink."

"Oh crap. I forgot," said Bobby, jumping up and getting him a bottle of soda, which he opened for him. "There ya go."

"Thanks."

Bobby sat down and held his beer bottle out. "To John."

"To dad," said the brothers in unison, clinking their bottles against Bobby's.

Bobby was smiling as he started drinking his beer. "Hey, remember that Halloween when ya were staying here for a few weeks when ya both were about six and two? Dean was high on chocolate and sugar, and John was trying to get him cleaned up by giving him a bath. But he was having none of it. He went running around my house stark naked with his boots on and one of John's shirts tied around his neck like a cape, while he was chasing him around."

Sam started laughing at the image, while Dean was blushing. "He was naked?"

"As the day he was born. John was yelling at him to get back here, but he kept yelling he was Batman and didn't have to get a bath, because superheroes didn't get baths." He smiled at Dean. "By the time John caught ya, he was laughing as much as we were. Then he picked ya up, and started running around, holding ya up so ya could fly and be a real superhero."

Dean was still slightly red, but he was smiling at the memory. "It was the first time since mom died, our old dad was back. I was so happy to see him laughing, I didn't want the day to end. It was awesome."

"It was exhausting. Ya were so hyper with the candy and chocolate, we were up until about three in the morning. Ya found John's old cassette tapes and started having a rave around the living room, screaming 'back in black' at the top of yer lungs. John kept acting like he was angry, but I could tell he was enjoying it just as much."

"I wish I could've seen dad like that."

"Me too," said Dean. "But he wasn't always bad. Sure, he wasn't around most of the time, but when he was around, and we were sick and we needed him, he was there. I remember when you had food poisoning. Dad was researching for a hunt, but he heard you throwing up in the bathroom, and he put his books away and stayed up with you all night. He even made a pillow and blanket fort in the bathroom, where you'd be comfortable. I woke up at some point, and found you both in the bathroom. We both fell asleep in dad's arms that night as he watched over us."

Sam looked down at the table, picking off the label on his beer. "I feel kind of guilty for saying things like he didn't care."

"He didn't always show it, but he did," said Bobby.

As the pie cooked, the three men shared their favourite memories of John. Dean told them about the 'fun, happy, loving' John when Mary was still around and Bobby had plenty of stories about hunts they went on. Sam didn't have as many as Dean and Bobby had, but he enjoyed hearing about the fun, caring side of their dad.

* * *

The kitchen was filled with laughter as Dean and Bobby told one funny story after another.

"...How he got stung on the ass, I have no idea. But there was no way in hell, I was sucking the poison out. In the end I had to use a syringe and get it out that way. It was one part of yer dad's body I never want to see again. I swear, I had nightmares for a week after that hunt."

Dean was laughing so much, his ribs were hurting. "Oh my god. That was hilarious."

"How you two hunted together so many times without killing each other, I don't know," laughed Sam.

"There were many times I threatened to shoot him with my trusty shotgun, but he wasn't always such an idjit."

When the timer for the oven went off, Bobby got up to cut up the pie. Sam got the bowls and forks out, while Dean got more drinks out of the fridge.

After placing the bottles on the table, Dean was standing beside Bobby, looking down into his bowl, at the tiny sliver of pie. He clenched his jaw, and bravely held the bowl out to Bobby, who stood staring at him with a confused frown.

"I don't want to sound like Oliver Twist, but..." Dean took a couple of deep breaths, held his head up high and said, "Can I have some more?"

At hearing those words, Sam span around and dropped the bowl and fork. The two men were staring at Dean with their eyes and mouth wide open.

"Uh..." Dean blinked in surprise at the sudden silence. The two men weren't moving, or blinking. They didn't seem to be even breathing. "Have we been frozen in time, and I didn't hear about it?"

"I... You..." Sam turned to Bobby. "Did he ask for more pie?"

"Thank god ya heard it too, I thought I was hearing voices there for a minute." Shaking himself out of his shock, Bobby cut another piece of pie for Dean.

"Not that big. The same size as this," said Dean, lifting up his bowl so Bobby could see the tiny piece that was already in there.

"Sure." Bobby cut another tiny piece from the pie and put it into Dean's bowl.

Dean smiled. "Thanks." He walked over to sit at the table, leaving the two men staring at him. Dean hunched his shoulders and kept his head down as he lifted the fork, and placed the pea-sized piece into his mouth.

When they recovered from the shock, Sam sat down with his bowl, and moved his chair closer to Dean. He picked his fork up, and suddenly felt like crying as he watched him eating not one piece of pie, but two. It was still less than half what him and Bobby had, it was more the size of what a toddler would eat, but for the first time, Dean had actually asked for more food.

"Will you two stop staring at me? You're freaking me out," Dean said, chewing slowly, before swallowing. He cut another tiny piece and lifted it to his mouth, which twitched up into a smile before opening.

Bobby and Sam smiled at each other, both of them happy Dean was doing better than he was that morning.

**TBC  
Hope you like.**


	29. Chapter 29

The brothers were sitting in the small waiting room at the hospital, waiting for Dr Morgan to call Dean's name. His last appointment had to be delayed for a week so he could recover at home from his pneumonia, and when he stood on the scales it said he had regained the pound he lost. They were all relieved he had gained something since they were worried he would have lost more weight while he was sick.

Now it was two weeks since that appointment and for the first time, neither brother was worried about weight loss, since Dean had been doing well for the past couple of weeks.

"I can't wait until this is all over," said Dean, eyes wandering the small room, not landing on anything or anyone. "Until I'm back to normal."

"Dean, you've never been normal," teased Sam.

Dean mock-glared at Sam and elbowed him. "You know what I mean, bitch. I can't wait until I'm the old me again. I can drive my baby. I'll hopefully be able to be around people without freaking out. My chest won't look like I've swallowed a xylophone."

A young woman with long black hair entered the room and smiled at Dean, who blushed slightly and looked down at the floor as if suddenly interested in the ugly carpet pattern. He leaned slightly forward, bracing knife-sharp elbows on bony thighs, and wrapped his arms around himself like that would protect him.

Sam noticed the look and the defensive posture, and was surprised his elbows didn't slice through what little flesh he had. "Hopefully when you're better, you'll get back that confidence with the ladies you've always had. I'll have to get used to being left back at motels waiting for you to come back from your late night shenanigans. Don't give me a minute by minute account of what happened. There's some things I don't need to hear about my brother."

Dean laughed. "You're just jealous Sammy. Chicks have always been drawn to me... like a zombie to a brain."

"Don't you mean moth to a flame?"

"No. I like my analogy better. It's more fitting in our line of work. Plus Zombies can never resist a brain, and when I'm back to my normal self, the chicks won't be able to resist me," he said with a tiny smirk, wiggling his eyebrows. It didn't have the same effect his normal smirk did, but at least it was there and it made Sam smile.

The two continued talking until Dr Morgan called them in. After making small talk for a few minutes, the doctor told Dean to stand on the scales so he could check his weight.

After removing his jacket and boots, Dean took a deep breath and let it out slowly, before stepping on the scales and closing his eyes.

"Okay. You were back to 109 on your last visit. And now... you've gained four pounds Dean," said the doctor with a big smile. Knowing how depressed Dean was and how much he wanted to die a few months ago, he felt very proud his patient had come this far in his recovery. After his week in hospital he had been worried it would set Dean back, but he seemed even more determined to continue getting better.

Dean gasped and was staring wide-eyed at the number  _113_ on the scales like he couldn't believe what it said. He didn't blink for several seconds in-case the number somehow changed and it would be lower.

When he stopped eating, his weight plummeted from a healthy 168 to 107, which was the average weight for a small woman. Since Dean had started to recover he had only gained 6 and a half pounds, which wasn't much to a normal person, but to him it was such a big accomplishment. It meant he really was recovering, he was slowly getting better.

On the outside, he didn't look much different than he did at 107 pounds, on the inside he felt like a different person. Every morning when he reluctantly looked in the mirror, he didn't see any difference in his face, and it was hard to tell if he was getting any better. But seeing the number very slowly going up, it was evidence of his progress.

Sam was smiling so wide, his dimples looked so deep like he had holes in his face. He watched his brother stare down at the number with teary green eyes, and Sam felt his heart clench in his chest. He felt proud of Dean when he gained the two pound, but nothing compared to the pride he felt right now. It felt almost like a parent being proud of their child who had carried out their greatest achievement.

The two men waited patiently for Dean to step down from the scales, knowing he had to be dealing with a barrage of emotions right now.

When Dean finally stepped down, Sam walked over to him and gave him a hug. His brother was really getting better, and he couldn't help but feel overwhelmed and extremely happy.

"I can do it, Sammy," Dean whispered against Sam's shoulder as he clung on just as tightly.

As Sam held Dean, he could feel the protruding bones of his spine and shoulder blades even through his many layers. He felt so small and fragile, as though a gust of wind might blow him away or he might shatter like glass if he held him too tightly.

Sam knew both him and Bobby had to keep a close watch over Dean, knowing how fragile both him and his recovery was, knowing any sort of stress or upset could set Dean back again. But he knew they could do it, he knew they would get Dean through this and he would eventually get better and be back to his old self again.

The Doctor sat down behind his desk and tried to give the brothers a few moments of privacy by writing down Dean's progress in his patient file and filling out a new prescription for his anti-depressants.

After the two pulled away, Dean got his jacket and boots back on and they sat in the two chairs opposite the desk. Sam got out his notebook and turned to the back to write down Dean's new weight.

"I'm very pleased with the amount of progress you're making. When I first met you I didn't think you were going to make it to the end of the week if you continued giving up."

Dean swallowed around the lump in his throat, and felt Sam's hand on his own as it gripped the arm of the chair, and accepted the support of his brother. He hated to think about how close he came to giving up, how close he came to leaving his brother and second dad.

Dr Morgan handed the prescription over to Sam. "Do you want to discuss anything or ask any questions?"

The brothers looked at each other and shook their heads in unison. "No."

"Okay. I'll see you both in two weeks time." When Dean walked out of the room, Dr Morgan picked up a card from his desk. "I know Dean has you and Bobby to talk to, but if he ever needs to talk to a professional he can always call him. Dr Caffrey is a therapist and a good friend of mine. He deals with people like your brother everyday, and is qualified to deal with problems like Dean's."

Sam took the card, even though he knew Dean would never be comfortable enough to talk to a stranger. It was rare for him to open up to Sam, and he was his brother. Bobby was almost like a therapist for Dean, he always found it easy to talk to the older man.

When Sam exited the room, he found Dean waiting for him. "Come on. Let's get to the pharmacy."

* * *

After getting the new bottle of anti-depressants, the brothers headed out to the car. The dark clouds hanging low in the sky, ready to drop their heavy load any moment, had been gathering steadily all day. The clouds gathered around the sun, like witches around a cauldron. It seemed darker and colder than it had been before they went into the hospital, and Dean shuddered as he looked out of the window.

When Sam turned the key in the ignition, he gave Dean the card for the therapist.

"Why did he give me a card to talk to someone? I've told him countless times I've got you and Bobby." He frowned as he continued staring at the card and noticed something Sam hadn't. "Actually, a better question, is why he wants me to see a rapist."

Sam put the heating on, and turned to stare at him. "Dean, it's the number for a therapist, not a rapist."

"It says the rapist."

Sam rolled his eyes and took the card. "Don't be stupid. It says... The rapist," he finished, staring down at the card, which either had a misplaced space or an unfortunate printing error. The name on the card did indeed say 'the rapist' instead of therapist. "Oh my god."

"Yeah. I wonder how many clients he's actually got if he's got something like that on his card," laughed Dean, shaking his head. He quickly rolled the window down and threw the card out. "We going back home?"

"No. We're going to get ice cream," said Sam, slowly driving out of the parking lot to the closest ice cream store. "It's our tradition. You do good at your weigh in and we celebrate. You should know this by now. Don't worry, I'll go in and order and we'll eat in the car. I'll get you a child's portion again, so you'll be able to eat it."

Dean nodded in agreement and chewed his bottom lip nervously. "Okay."

* * *

When Sam climbed back into the car he gave Dean the little tub with his ice cream & M&Ms. "Eat up."

"Thanks." Dean picked up the plastic spoon and scooped up a tiny amount of chocolate ice cream and an M&M before taking a bite. "Mmmm."

Sam licked his own ice cream, and used his free hand to dig into his pocket to pull out the new pill bottle. He looked down at it for several seconds before looking over at Dean.

His eyes drifted over his features and for the first time, Sam saw how different Dean's face looked. His face was still pale and bony, his eyes looked huge in the bruised skin of the sockets, as thin as tracing paper. There was an unnatural paleness to his complexion, the only colour provided by the smattering of freckles across his nose and cheekbones, like a dusting of cinnamon on milk. His cheeks looked hollow and cast a faint shadow. But he no longer looked like he was on the edge of giving up, he no longer looked like a broken man always on the verge of crying. His eyes no longer looked haunted, dull or hollow, they seemed to shine, especially when he smiled or laughed, both of which he was doing more of recently.

Sam looked back down at the bottle and knew he didn't have to worry about Dean killing himself anymore. He nodded to himself, and held the bottle out to Dean. "Here."

Dean saw the bottle and dropped his spoon back into his ice cream, his eyebrows shooting up his forehead. "You're giving them to me?"

"Yeah. Before, when you first started to recover I didn't want to risk you having these in-case everything became too much. But recently with how much progress you've made, I know I can trust you to keep these yourself." Sam's eyes suddenly teared up. "I don't have to worry about one day waking up to find you... find you dead after taking them all. I trust you."

Dean's hand shook as he took the bottle from Sam. "Thanks Sammy."

Sam nodded. "But if everything becomes too much again, let me know. If you feel like you want to stop taking them or you feel like taking the full bottle, you come straight to me or Bobby, okay?"

"The very second," Dean promised, putting the pills in his pocket.

"Don't forget to take it. I'll remind you for the first few days, so you don't forget. So don't get pissed at me about me not trusting you."

"I won't," Dean promised, picking his spoon back up and having another small mouthful of ice cream. "Thanks for trusting me, Sammy. Just a few months ago I would've been tempted to take the full bottle to hurry things up. But now... you don't have to worry about it."

"I know." Sam was quiet for awhile, eating his ice cream. He looked over at Dean again, and took a deep breath before asking a question he had wanted to ask for ages. "Hey Dean? When you wanted to die, why did you..." He swallowed the lump in his throat before continuing. "Why did you choose to starve yourself?"

Dean didn't answer, he crunched on an M&M and sucked off the ice cream, his cheeks hollowing out even more, making him look like a flesh-strung skeleton. As he dug for more ice cream, he clenched his jaw like he was angry.

As he watched his brother, Sam worried he had pushed him too far. "I know you probably don't want to talk about it, but..."

"Why are you asking me that?"

"Because I wanted to know why you chose one of the worst and slowest ways to die."

"How the hell would you know?"

Sam shrugged and started eating the cone of his ice cream. "I read it in an article a few weeks ago."

Dean nodded once and turned his head to look out of the window, but made no reply. Lightning lit up the sky. A monstrous thunderclap followed a second later, with a crash that rattled the car.

"I know it's hard to talk about. I've told you a million times, If you ever need to talk about anything with anybody, you've always got somebody right here."

"I know that."

"Really? Because you only seem to talk to me when I tell you that you can talk to me. You never come to me if you need to talk, it's always  _me_  who comes to  _you_."

Dean became quiet again as he started eating his ice cream.

Sam was silently watching his brother for several minutes, and jumped slightly when he finally broke the silence.

"I thought about ending it other ways," he said quietly, looking down at his half empty bowl as if he was talking to the ice cream & M&Ms instead of Sam. "When I finally realised how much I wanted to die, and I stopped eating." Dean started stirring his ice cream as he quietly told Sam something he hadn't even told Bobby. "I kept a razor blade in my pocket, I thought about taking a bottle of pills with a bottle of whisky I kept in my bag, I thought about shooting myself with my favourite gun. There were times I'd willingly put myself in-front of a vamp or demon, closed my eyes and waited for it to end. But you'd always come at the right moment and save me."

Sam bit his bottom lip to stop the trembling as he listened to his brother talking about the ways he thought about killing himself, and how close he had come to losing him. He remembered Dean becoming reckless on hunts after their dad died, but he never thought he was doing it to get himself killed.

Dean sighed and closed his eyes. "But I felt like I didn't deserve a quick, painless death. When the pain in my stomach started I felt like it was something I deserved for letting dad die," he said, repeating the same words he said to Bobby. "I knew the more pain I was in, the closer I was to the end. I was dying. It might have been slow and painful, but I deserved to suffer and that's what I did."

Sam could almost feel that pain in his chest as his heart ached, it felt like someone was squeezing his heart in a giant fist, but he didn't want to speak in-case it stopped Dean from opening up to him.

"I think most of the pain came from a combination of barely eating, and throwing up when I actually did. When the pain became too much I did think about taking the easy way out. It felt like a rabid dog or a hell hound was using my insides as a chewtoy or somebody had taken a blunt rusty knife and was slowly trying to tear through my stomach to see what was inside," he said, running one bony hand across his stomach as if experiencing the pain again. "It was probably the same pain dad was going through in hell, and dad was going through that pain because of me. So in my mind I deserved to go through that same agony dad was, before finally dying."

"You didn't deserve any of it," Sam whispered, trying to wipe the tears from his red eyes, but more kept coming. "You don't deserve to go through pain like that."

"I know that now, but I wasn't exactly thinking straight, Sammy." Tears flowed into Dean's eyes like rain filling cisterns during a storm. The deep pain in them was as clear as words on a page. "When I first stopped eating, it wasn't because I suddenly decided to kill myself. My appetite decreased and I lost interest in food... among other things. I guess that should've been my first clue I was depressed, but I didn't put it together."

"What did it feel like?"

"It was like a dark endless pit, like an old wound that had never healed, had opened up inside me and was bringing an emptiness to go with it. That darkness inside me was like a black hole that threatened to swallow my soul into oblivion and leave behind an empty shell."

"Like you were already dead on the inside?"

"Yeah. I guess. I felt like there was a gaping void inside my chest. It felt like I was a hollowed-out pumpkin. The only thing I felt was the pain in my stomach. If it wasn't for that pain, I probably would've thought I was already dead, but my body wouldn't lay down and give up. It just kept walking around... Like a zombie."

"I'm sorry it took us so long to notice," said Sam, placing his hand on Dean's shoulder.

"Why would you notice? I might have been broken on the inside, but on the outside I kept my mask on and tried to act normal so you wouldn't find out, so you wouldn't try to stop me."

"I'm glad you didn't take the easy way out. I hate the thought of you being in so much pain, but the alternative is you not being here, and I can't do this without my brother, and I don't want to."

Dean placed his hand over Sam's and gave it a gentle squeeze. "You don't have to do anything without me, Sammy. You're stuck with me."

"Good. To hear everything you went through, it makes me realise how strong you really are." He saw Dean look away, staring out of the window as another bolt of lightning split the sky, branching out into three different directions. "I read this quote the other day, it said 'One needs more courage to live than to kill himself.' It reminded me of you."

Dean's lips twitched slightly as he wiped his face with his sleeve. "To quote my man Clint- 'Dying ain't so hard for men like you and me, it's living that's hard.' And you know me... I never take the easy route."

Sam laughed through his tears. Trust Dean to make him laugh by quoting one of his many favourite westerns. "Eat your ice cream."

Dean grinned and picked his spoon back up to finish the rest of his ice cream & M&Ms.

* * *

The moment Dean climbed out of the car, the leaden sky decided to release the heavy burden of water it had carried all day. Lightning threaded across the sky, flickering in pulses that lit up the yard. Thunder rumbled overhead, sounding like the echo of a gunshot.

"WHOA!" Dean exclaimed, diving back into the car and closing the door.

Sam raised his eyebrows. "The hell was that about?"

Dean let out a sigh and slumped back into his seat, his cheeks turning slightly red at his dramatic re-entrance into his car. "I uh... forgot... my spoon," he said, picking up his small ice cream spoon from the dashboard and held it against his chest like it was a treasured item. He cleared his throat, avoiding eye contact with Sam as the rain hammered against the roof of the Impala.

"Are you okay? I've never seen you freak out over a storm before."

"I didn't freak out. You freaked out."

"Good comeback. Are you ready to get out or do you want me to drive you into the house?"

"Shut up." Dean looked up at Sam, and the two nodded as they opened their doors in unison and made a run for it before the storm intensified further.

The icy drops were like cold needles as they ran to the front door and slid inside, the warmth and dryness of the warm house embracing them.

Bobby walked over to greet them, his eyebrows disappearing under his hat when he saw how wet they both were, and how much Dean was shaking from the cold. "Raining?"

"No. I decided to install a shower in my car, so I can get showered with my clothes on to save time," said Dean, running a hand down his wet face, and flicking the water at Sam. Even though they had only been out in the rain a few seconds, they were both drenched.

"Hey." Sam shook his head like a dog, the water from his hair going everywhere, wetting Dean even further.

"OH YOU BITCH!" cried Dean with a laugh.

Bobby wiped the water from his face and shook his head in exasperation. "Go get dried and changed. Yer dripping all over my house, and ya both look like a pair of drowned rats."

"Wow. Thanks," said Dean as a violent shiver wracked his body.

"Get a hot shower to get warmed up, then get changed. We don't want you getting sick again," said Sam, becoming serious.

Dean rolled his eyes as he headed to the stairs. "Yes mother."

"How did it go?" Bobby asked Sam when Dean was halfway up the stairs.

Sam grinned and bounced like a puppy. "He's gained four pounds," he said, clapping in excitement.

"Really?" Bobby whistled, his heart swelling with pride. "Good job son," he called over his shoulder at Dean, who gave a thumbs up in reply. When Dean disappeared, Bobby turned to Sam. "How is he?"

"Okay I think. We had a talk in the car while we ate ice cream. Even though he breaks my heart when he actually talks to me, I'm glad he does."

"Me too. I always feel proud of him when he opens up, instead of keeping everything bottled up until it gets too much," Bobby said as he squeezed Sam's shoulder. "Go get showered and changed, ya can use my bathroom. I'll make some coffee and start lunch. He deserves a treat so I'll also make a pie for later."

"Sounds good."

* * *

When Sam finished his shower, he quickly got dressed into some pants and one of his grey hoodies, since they were staying in for the rest of the day due to the terrible weather.

Sam was towelling his hair as he walked into the bedroom he shared with Dean. As he walked through the door, he came to a stop, the towel falling from his hand when he saw Dean in the bedroom with only a towel around his waist, getting changed.

The knuckles of Dean's spine bulged through the skin as if it were tissue paper, and the shoulder blades looked like the wing mirrors from a car. As he turned around to grab his sweatpants, Sam could see his hipbones jutting out like the bones of a plucked thanksgiving turkey, the bones pressed against his skin like a broken bone would protrude through an open wound. His every rib stuck out like bare winter branches, and Sam understood what Dean said earlier about how it looked as if he had swallowed a xylophone. His collarbones looked like he had something buried under his skin, and his stomach was so flat it looked as if he had taken a deep breath and sucked his stomach in, and forgot to breathe back out again.

Dean didn't notice Sam standing there as he quickly pulled on his pants under his towel, before letting it drop to the floor. He pulled the drawstring as tight as he could and tied it around his waist so they wouldn't fall down, and grabbed one of the dry t-shirts he was wearing earlier and pulled it on.

Sam felt like a stalker as he watched his brother get changed, but it was like he was frozen to the spot as he stared at Dean's body. He had only seen it twice before since he had lost so much weight, but he didn't take much notice of the way Dean's body had looked at the time. He wondered how they had never noticed Dean was so sick as he looked at the rake-thin frame with tears in his eyes.

But as Sam continued watching Dean put on his many layers, he realised that was how. Dean dressed layer upon layer, almost as if it were armor and painted on a smile like a mask to show the world he was okay, even though he wasn't.

When Dean grabbed Sam's black hoodie, Sam quickly picked up his towel and hurried back down the hall to Bobby's bathroom. Tears clouded his vision until everything was a blur, so he started blinking rapidly, but that caused more tears to fall faster, like water from the shower he had just taken.

* * *

After Dean got dressed, he went downstairs and straight into the living room to the couch where Sam had left a blanket for him. He sat down and wrapped himself up, still a little cold from being outside.

Sam walked into the room with three cups of coffee, and passed the bigger cup to Dean. "There you go," he said, sitting down beside him.

"Thanks Sammy," said Dean, taking a small sip of the coffee. He nodded to the TV, which had the DVD menu on the screen. "We watching something?"

"Yeah," said Sam, picking up the remote and pressing 'play'.

Dean's eyes widened when he saw the title. "Oh my god. It's True grit. I haven't seen this movie for years."

"I know. I bought ya a few John Wayne movies while I was out yesterday. I thought we'd start with this one since ya did so well with yer weigh-in," Bobby told him, walking into the room with three plates. "Homemade pizza."

Dean took the plate with the smallest piece, which was only a quarter- enough for a small child, while Sam and Bobby had the rest. He didn't take his eyes from the screen as he snuggled down into the thick blanket and broke off a tiny piece of his cheese pizza, and sipped his coffee while the rain poured outside and thunder shook the house from time to time.

Dean was so engrossed in the movie, he didn't even notice Sam or Bobby looking at him or the storm going on outside. The only part of him that moved was his mouth as he slowly ate his pizza or quoted his favourite lines. Sometimes he did both at the same time, making the other two men smile at the child-like actions.

The rain was hammering against the windows like evil spirits trying to get inside. Lightning zigzagged across the sky every 2-3 minutes, followed by thunder rumbling.

As the storm continued on outside, the three of them spent the rest of the day together watching some of John Wayne's and Clint Eastwood's best westerns.

While Dean enjoyed himself watching the movies, Sam and Bobby enjoyed watching Dean smile and be happy.

 **TBC  
** **Hope you like**

**The conversation between Dean & Sam in the car was originally written back when Dean & Bobby went fishing, but I decided to save it for another chapter.**


	30. Chapter 30

**This was supposed to be up on 4th January, to celebrate 6 years since I started this story, but I didn't finish it in time because I kept re-writing it. So I'll celebrate 6 years & a month instead. :)**

"Sammy? Where's Bobby?" Dean asked as he sat beside Sam on the couch, holding a bag close to his chest.

"He's in the garage," answered Sam, turning the page of the book he was reading.

"Can you go get him for me please?"

"Is everything okay?" asked a worried Sam, dropping the book, and placing his hand on Dean's bony shoulder.

"Yeah. I just want to talk to you both about something... It's nothing bad," he was quick to reassure him.

Sam nodded, and stood up. "I'll be back in a sec," he said as he walked outside to get Bobby.

The two of them came back in the house two minutes later, both wearing worried expressions.

"Everything okay?" asked Bobby, sitting on Dean's right side as Sam sat on his left.

"Yeah. Better than okay. You know I hate chick-flick moments, and avoid them like the plague, but the last few months we've had plenty, so one more isn't going to make a difference." Dean lowered his head and took a deep breath, before continuing. "These past nine months, especially the last four, haven't been easy, for any of us. For the first time in my life, I couldn't really take care of myself, so you guys stepped in and took care of me, saved me and made me want to live again. I know I've still got a long way to go, but I've only got this far because of you. I wanted to thank you guys for everything, for being here, for never giving up on me."

"Dean, you never have to thank family. That's what we're here for."

"I know, but I wanted you both to know how much I appreciate you guys and for helping me through this. You're both the only reasons I'm still here and I'll never forget what you've done for me." Dean opened the bag and lifted a box out of it and gave it to Bobby, who took it with a confused expression.

Bobby opened the box and gasped when he saw the beautiful engraved flask. He lifted it out carefully as if it was glass and stared down at the engraved picture of himself as a younger man with his two boys when they were kids. In the picture he had a fond smile and an expression full of love and pride as he looked down at the two little boys, who had the biggest, happiest smiles on their little faces.

"I found this place online, that sells flasks and also does the engraving and I wanted to make one for you and Sammy. They were delivered last night. I didn't even have to leave the house. Do you like it?"

"It's beautiful." When he saw the small word engraved in the corner, ' ** _Dad',_** Bobby's breath caught, and he looked up at Dean with teary eyes.

"When I first met you, you were a grumpy guy in a baseball cap, who was always scowling... which hasn't changed much," he added with a mischievous grin.

Bobby chuckled and gently hit Dean in the arm.

"You kinda scared me a little when you were grumbling and scowling all the time, calling us 'idjits'. I used to think you were the real Oscar the Grouch from Sesame Street. I thought you hated me. But eventually you started smiling and even telling me jokes as you let me help with the cars. Which was awesome. And you became like a giant teddy bear with a hat on. You were still occasionally grumpy, but I doubt anyone can change that."

Bobby smiled as Dean spoke, tracing his thumb over that special word.

"When we stayed at yours, we were always safe, and we had the most fun ever. Whenever I was sad, you cheered me up. Whenever I was upset, you dried my tears and hugged me. Whenever I was sick, you took care of me. Whenever I had a nightmare, you stayed up with me until I could fall back to sleep. When we were kids, you were 'Mr grumpy' then you became 'uncle Bobby', but as we've grown up, you've become like a second dad to us. I don't want to replace dad, and no-one will, but I'm one of the lucky few who's incredibly blessed to have two dads." Dean nodded at the flask. "Turn it over."

Bobby did and when he saw the small poem, he swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. He kept blinking rapidly when tears clouded his vision and blurred the writing, but he managed to read the words on the back.

 __ **DAD  
You may not be my real dad,  
in either name or blood.  
But you've always been right here for me,  
like a real father should.  
You may not be my real dad,  
but you always treat me as your own.  
As long as I have you and Sam,  
I know I'll never be alone.  
You may not be my real dad,  
but I know you're always there.  
A second dad as great as you,  
is something very rare.  
It makes me proud,  
** **it makes me glad.  
To say those words... **  
**to call you 'dad'.**

 _"_ When it was my birthday and you gave me that knife that says 'D. Singer' and you said just because you're not my real dad, it doesn't mean I'm not your son. We feel the same way, you may not be my dad, but to me you're just as much a father as our dad was. Your house is as much of a home as baby is. It was you who taught me that blood makes you related, but love and loyalty makes you family." Dean bit his bottom lip as it trembled. "I'll always love dad and nothing and no-one will ever replace him, but you... you love and treat me like your own, like a dad would. You're not my dad in blood or by name, but you're my dad in every other way that matters."

Bobby placed the flask on the couch and grabbed Dean, pulling him into his arms and holding him as tightly as he dared, pouring every ounce of love he felt for the amazing young man in his arms into the hug.

"After my wife died, I never thought I'd ever love anyone again. I didn't want to," Bobby whispered softly into Dean's ear, cradling the back of his head with one palm. "But one day, I met a shy little green-eyed boy and his little brother, and somehow they knocked down my carefully built walls brick by brick, and slowly started to chip away the ice that surrounded my heart and found their way inside. I love those boys more than I've ever loved anyone before... especially that little green-eyed boy."

Dean smiled as he wrapped his own arms around Bobby. He closed his eyes and relaxed into the embrace, feeling loved and safe like he always did in the arms of the man he called his second dad.

When the two finally pulled away, they saw Sam looking at them with a huge smile, his eyes just as watery as their own.

Dean cleared his throat and wiped his tears with his sleeves, looking slightly embarrassed, but happy. He grabbed the bag again and pulled out an identical box and gave it to Sam.

The silver flask also had an engraved picture on the front- the same one that was still on the mirror in the bathroom, which was Sam's favourite. They both stood with the Impala, arms around each other, smiling happily. Sam's smile widened at the image, and he laughed when he saw the word ' ** _Bitch'_** engraved in the corner.

"I chose that one because I know you like it, and because I thought you'd prefer a picture of me when I don't look like the crypt keeper." Dean smiled and nudged Sam. "Turn it over."

"Why? You haven't written a poem about being a bitch have you?"

"Just turn it over."

Sam did and saw another poem written for him by his brother.

 _**BROTHER  
You're not only my little brother, ** _  
_**you're also my best friend.** _  
_**I know you'll always be there,** _  
_**until the very end.** _  
_**Thank you for all your love,** _  
_**and all the things you do.** _  
_**If I had the choice of brothers,** _  
_**I always would choose you.** _  
_**The love we have, the bond we share,** _  
_**is unlike any other.** _  
**It makes me glad, it makes me proud,**   
**to say that you're my brother.**

Sam sniffled and wiped his eyes and nose, before looking up at Dean.

"Ever since I was four, my job has always been to watch out for you, to protect you. That's what big brothers do. I never thought little brothers had that same job. These past few months have shown me, it doesn't matter if you're older or younger, it's a brothers job to watch out for each other. And I have to admit, you're doing a pretty good job... almost as good as me," he joked, making Sam smile. "When mom and dad first told me they were going to have a baby and I was going to be a big brother, I asked if I could have a puppy instead."

Sam burst out laughing and shook his head in amusement.

"Even after you were born, I still wanted a puppy. You just laid there, not doing anything, you were kinda boring. But I remember the first time you opened your eyes and looked up at me with this huge toothless smile and you grabbed my fingers in your tiny fist and wouldn't let it go. When you first started talking, your first word was my name. When you first started walking, it was me you took your first steps to... even though it was dad who was trying to teach you."

Sam looked up at Dean, his bottom lip trembling, his eyes shining with unshed tears.

"You always followed me everywhere, copied everything I did. At first it was kinda weird, but it was also sort of nice. I thought 'Maybe having a little brother is better than having a puppy after all'. You always looked up at me with this look in your eyes, it was like..." Dean shook his head, unable to describe it. He looked at Sam, who was looking at him with that same expression. "The way you're looking at me now. Like a dog would look up in adoration at his owner or something."

"Or the way ya used to look up at yer dad," added Bobby, seeing the look Dean was talking about.

Dean looked up at Sam in surprise. He never expected Sam to have that kind of love and respect for him, like he had for his dad. He didn't think he deserved that level of love from his brother.

Sam smiled and placed his hand on Dean's shoulder. "Bobby's right. I've looked up to you my whole life. I remember when I was in school, everyone used to talk about their heroes, most would say superman, spiderman, wonder woman or batman, others would choose their dad, singers, actors or football players. I always talked about my big brother. Everyone thought I was a little weird, but I didn't care."

"You are a little weird, Sammy... But so am I," said Dean with a grin, before becoming serious again. "Nobody bullied you about it, right?"

"No. Not after that time you flushed one of their heads down the toilet when you heard him call me a freak," he laughed. "He actually became my friend after that. Remember that time when you punched one of my friends? That was him."

"I never hit one of your... Wait a minute, are you talking about that idiot who put a dent in baby? The moron's lucky he was your friend, otherwise he would've ended up in hospital with two broken legs, two broken arms and a broken neck."

"He didn't know it was your car."

"So? You know my motto- 'You hurt me, you're gonna feel pain. You hurt my car, you're gonna need an ambulance. But if you hurt my family, then I'm gonna need some salt, lighter fluid, matches and a shovel'."

Sam laughed again. "The same goes if someone or something hurts you," he whispered, so only Dean could hear him.

"Anyway, as we got older, and you started growing up, part of me didn't want you to. I thought that you wouldn't be my little brother anymore. That you would start to hate me, and wouldn't want me around. But you'd still look at me with that look, you'd still ask me for advice, and come to me if you had any problems. And I thought, maybe you growing up wouldn't change everything too much."

Dean smiled proudly. "Then you told me you were going to college. I felt two emotions, pride and fear. I was scared you wouldn't need me anymore, that you'd get hurt if I wasn't there to protect you, that you'd forget about me when you started making new friends, I was scared I'd lose you. But more than that, I was so proud of you for being smart enough to go to college. I have no idea where you got such a big brain from, it sure as hell wasn't me."

"Yes it was."

"Sammy, how can it be me? I'm about as smart as Homer Simpson or Peter Griffin. You're more like Stephen Hawking or something."

"Dean, when it comes to hunting and the lore, you're a genius. You're always figuring things out faster than others, seeing patterns nobody else even saw, especially symbols. You're great with electrical stuff, who else can make an EMF detector from an old walkman, or make an EVP device using an old radio, like you did with Bobby's? What about using rock salt as bullets, or rebuilding an entire car after it gets completely wrecked?" Seeing the look of doubt on Dean's face, Sam tried something else. "It was you who taught me to read and write and solve math problems before I even started school. You always helped me with my homework, instead of doing your own. You stole books for me to read and learn from."

"Hey, I didn't steal them... I borrowed them."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Right. Did you ever give them back?" he asked Dean, who shrugged.

"Ya know who ya remind me of? Jack O'Neill from Stargate. He also possess a sharp, sarcastic sense of humour, and is a lot smarter than he lets on. Yer both easily bored and have a short attention span regarding anything intellectual, so people tend to underestimate yer intelligence and knowledge, including yerself." Bobby gently elbowed Dean. "I could be describing both Jack O'Neill and Dean Winchester here. Yer both idjits, but yer not stupid." He winked. "There's a reason Jack has always been my favourite character."

Sam nodded in agreement. "Yeah. He's just like an older version of you. He's always taunting his enemy in the heat of battle, or while in captivity. He's good with kids, probably because of his own childlike qualities. He's a hero, who's saved the world countless times. He's also a protector, who feels his first responsibility is to keep others safe. You both have a kind heart and courageous spirit. I remember at college my friends used to watch old episodes, and I always told them I have a brother who's just like Jack. They said they were jealous I had such an awesome big brother. Even though they never met you."

Dean's cheeks were slightly red, but he was smiling. "As I was saying, I've been proud of you since you were a tiny little baby, who became like my shadow as soon as he learned to crawl. Even more proud when you went to college, and I continue to be proud of you now as a grown man, who's more like an overgrown yeti, in need of a hair cut, with a brain big enough to match."

Sam ignored the tears cascading down his cheeks as he threw his arms around Dean and buried his face in his neck, wincing when Dean's sharp collarbone dug into his cheek. "I'm proud of you too, jerk."

Dean laughed and hugged him back. "Bitch."

The two continued hugging for several minutes, until Dean pulled away. He nodded down at the flasks. "I know it's probably a crappy present, but..."

"Dean, this is beautiful," said Sam, holding the flask to his chest. "I don't know about Bobby, but I'll carry this everywhere with me."

"Glad you like it. It took me ages to write that," he pointed at the poem. "I wrote it like a song, since Dean Winchester does not do poetry."

"Is that what you were so busy doing last week?"

"Yeah. I wanted to show you guys how much I appreciate everything you've done. I literally wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you guys, and that's my way of thanking you." When Sam opened his mouth, Dean held up a hand. "I know. I don't have to thank you, it's what family does, but I wanted to anyway."

"This family wouldn't be anything without you."

"Well, I wouldn't be anything without my family." Dean took out another flask from his shirt pocket. Engraved on the front, was a picture of him, Bobby and Sam. Dean was sitting on the hood of the car, a tiny smirk on his face, Sam and Bobby were standing on each side of him, smiling. The word _**'Family'**_ was engraved in the corner.

"I did this one for me," Dean whispered, turning it over to reveal a second picture, this one of John and Mary with little Dean and baby Sam in their arms, along with...

 **_FAMILY_ **  
**_My family is my strength,_ **  
**_My family is my weakness._ **  
**_My family is my home,_ **  
**_My family is everything._ **

Sam and Bobby saw the picture and read the small message, with tears in their eyes and smiles on their faces. Without saying anything, they wrapped an arm around Dean and hugged him between them.

"It's beautiful," whispered Sam, resting his cheek against Dean's hair.

"It really is," said Bobby, wrapping his free arm around Sam, so he was holding both of his boys.

Dean closed his eyes and relaxed into his family's loving embrace.

 **TBC  
** **Hope you like**


	31. Chapter 31

**Sorry it's taken so long for me to update, but my dad was fighting cancer for most of 2016 and** **passed away a few days before Halloween. So I didn't feel like writing for awhile, especially this story.** **After trying (and failing) several times over the past year, I finally managed to write again. It took me 3 weeks, but I finally did it.**

The brothers were sitting together at the kitchen table. Sam was once again searching on his laptop and writing things down in his notebook. Dean was sitting with him for company, watching as the older man was preparing dinner for later.

"What are you making?" asked Dean.

"Lasagne."

"Thank god you're making it. The last time Sam made lasagne, it tasted like cardboard covered in sick," Dean said with a shudder.

Sam rolled his eyes. "It wasn't that bad, Jerk."

"Yeah whatever, bitch. No offence, Sammy, but if you'd gone back in time and offered that to the Donner party, they still would've eaten each other."

Bobby chuckled while Sam pretended to look offended at Dean's comment. "He's right Sam. Ya have a talent for cooking certain meals, but lasagne sure as hell isn't one of them."

"Okay fine. I admit, it wasn't the greatest thing in the world. But at least I didn't nearly blow the motel up with a toaster, trying to make toast."

"Hey, that wasn't my fault. The toaster was broke." Dean winced at the memory of trying to make some toast for his little brother years before. The loud bang, and blue flash as he put the handle down, followed by a pain in his hand and up his arm. "The damn thing nearly fried me. My arm was tingly for almost two days."

"You were paranoid about toasters for months afterwards. You kept saying they were all possessed and wanted to kill you."

"It wouldn't be the first or last time something was possessed and tried to kill me. Remember when that crazy ghost bitch tried to kill me with my own car?"

"Of course I remember, I was there too," said Sam, scrolling down the page he was currently reading on his laptop. "You looked like you literally had a mud bath after your head-dive off the bridge."

"Yeah, Good times," said Dean with a smile.

Sam looked over his laptop, staring at Dean like he was crazy. "Good times? Dean, we were almost killed."

"I know that. I meant... Hunting. We had some good times. I miss it," said Dean, placing his elbow on the table, and his chin in his palm as he stared into the distance with a long dramatic sigh.

Sam rolled his eyes again, and Bobby shook his head as he picked up the cooking dish, and placed the lasagne into the fridge to be cooked later.

"It's only been a few months, not years. Quit being a drama queen."

"I'm not. Hey, I've got a really important question. I've been wondering about it for years," said Dean, looking seriously at the other two men, who looked worriedly back. "If Buzz lightyear didn't know he was a toy, why didn't he speak when humans were around?"

Sam blinked and stared at him. "What? Why are you asking about a character in a kids movie?"

"I don't know. I always thought it was strange."

"It's not as strange as you, so don't worry about it."

"Oh you bitch," said Dean, throwing a crumpled paper ball at Sam, hitting him in the face.

"Jerk," said Sam, throwing it back.

"As fascinating as this conversation is, I'm going out into the garage for awhile. I have to get this car fixed for a friend of mine, he's coming back to pick it up tomorrow," said Bobby, wiping his hands on a tea towel, before walking to the door. "I'll be right outside if ya need me."

"Okay," said Sam, turning back to Dean, who looked bored. He sighed, and ripped a couple of pages out of his thick notebook and handed him a pen. If he kept Dean occupied, he hopefully wouldn't start asking more random questions or just being a pain in the ass.

* * *

Sam spent the next hour with his laptop and his notebook. Dean was drawing symbols on the paper Sam had given him, occasionally making a comment to his brother.

They continued enjoying each others company until Sam got up to go to the bathroom. After making sure he had gone, Dean turned the laptop around, started a new page and searched for the symptoms of depression.

Even though he was the one with depression he had never searched for anything to do with the signs or symptoms. He had tried the night before his dad's birthday but back then he didn't feel as if he was ready, now he felt as if he was ready to know.

Dean put the keywords into a search engine and when the pages loaded up, he took a deep breath and clicked on the first link. When he saw the list, he sat back in shock at how many of the symptoms he had.

 _*Withdrawal from socialising.  
_ _*Loss of interest in previously enjoyed hobbies.  
_ _*Acting recklessly.  
_ _*Constant irritability, sadness and 'empty' feelings.  
_ _*Constant pessimism.  
_ _*Suicidal thoughts.  
_ _*Insomnia.  
_ _*Loss of appetite._

But the one that surprised Dean the most was the last one.

_*Feelings of guilt, inadequacy, and self-loathing._

Dean's eyes widened. If self-loathing was a symptom of depression, then he had been depressed for longer than he thought. He knew he had felt the hatred toward himself a lot stronger over the 10 months since John died, but he never realised it was actually one of the symptoms of being depressed.

Dean continued staring at the list until he heard Sam walking downstairs. "Dammit," he whispered, quickly shutting the page down and turning Sam's laptop back to where it was. As Sam walked into the kitchen, Dean stood up from the table. "I'm going out to the garage for awhile."

"Are you okay?" asked a worried Sam.

"Yeah. I need some fresh air."

* * *

Bobby was busy working when he felt someone standing behind him. Turning around, he saw it was Dean, bundled up in layers with a scarf wrapped snugly around his neck, and holding two cups of coffee in gloved hands.

"Does Sam know yer out here?" he asked, taking his cup with 'The boss' written on it from Dean's hand.

Dean rolled his eyes, and took a sip of his own coffee. "Yeah. Why do you think I've got so many layers on? He wouldn't let me out without wrapping me up like the Michelin man and asking me twenty times if I was warm enough, if I was feeling okay to go to the garage, and then he made me promise that if I felt even the tiniest bit dizzy to come back into the house. Seriously, you'd think he was the older brother."

Bobby chuckled, and closed the hood on the car so Dean could sit down. "He's just making sure yer alright," he said, leaning back against the car beside Dean.

"I know," said Dean, shuffling back on the car, so he could put his feet on the bumper. "But sometimes it does get annoying being treated like I'm made of glass and I'm going to break at the slightest thing."

"After everything that's happened and everything we've been through these past few months ya can't blame him for being over-protective and taking care of ya. That's what family does."

As Dean took another sip of the hot, black coffee, his eyes kept darting around the garage nervously as if he was expecting people to suddenly pop up out of the car or in Bobby's giant toolbox.

"It's only us two in here. There's nothing to be nervous about. There's no people around like yesterday, the guy will be coming back for his car tomorrow. Yer safe."

"I know," Dean whispered, staring into the black liquid in his cup, a faint blush colouring his otherwise pale cheeks. "I always feel safe here."

"Yer always welcome here," said Bobby, a sudden wave of love and affection for the young man washed over him.

Dean smiled. "This place is like my home. Here and my baby... they're home."

"This place is where I live," said Bobby, gesturing around them. "But it's only my real home whenever my boys are here. It's not the house that makes a home, it's the people in it."

"Yeah, I guess so. I haven't had a real 'house' home since mom died, but as long as I have you, Sammy and baby, I'll always have a home."

"Always," Bobby agreed, winking at him as the two of them drank their coffees. He noticed that Dean was staring at something outside the door with wide unblinking eyes, and asked what he was looking at and what he was thinking about.

Dean was silent for several seconds, before answering. "How life can be as fragile as a dandelion."

Bobby was lost at the answer, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "What?"

"Dandelions," he said, gesturing outside the garage door where a few dandelions were growing. As a breeze blew outside, making the florets dance and fly in the wind, Dean shivered. "Life can be just as fragile as a dandelion. Just one breath, or a gust of wind, the dandelion florets scatter in the wind. Gone forever."

"I never thought of it like that before."

"As sudden as that... In the blink of an eye, your life can be over." He quickly wiped his face with his gloved hand as a tear swam down his cheek. "You can be crossing the road and suddenly get hit and killed by a speeding car, you can be shot and killed by an idiot with a gun, you can close your eyes to go to sleep and never wake up, you can suddenly have a heart attack and literally drop dead." He swallowed the lump in his throat as he shook his head. "Or like dad. One minute he was there, talking to me... the next Sammy's running into the room, saying dad's dead. He was gone," he finished in a whisper. "He's gone Bobby."

Bobby wrapped one arm around Dean's trembling form. "I know son. Shh. It's okay. I've got ya," he whispered when Dean sniffled.

Dean leaned against Bobby and continued watching the dandelions. When the tears clouded his vision until everything was a blur, he blinked rapidly, wiping away the stray ones that fell with his gloved hand. "Right now I probably look as fragile as a dandelion. One wrong touch could make me shatter like glass, or a strong gust of wind would blow me away... like when we went fishing," he added, his lips twitching.

Bobby chuckled as he remembered Dean's offer of tying some string around his legs and using him as a kite if he got bored, after he almost got blown off his feet. He gave him a gentle squeeze. "Yer body may be frail right now and ya may look like a small gust of wind will blow ya over, but in spirit and in heart, yer the strongest person I know."

Dean finally looked away from the dandelions and looked at Bobby. "Yeah, I guess. As each day does by, the light at the end of the tunnel gets brighter and brighter." His smile widened for a second, making him look almost like his old self. "As long as nothing comes along to hit me and knock me back. Because the worst time to be hit by a train is the instant where the end of the tunnel is in sight."

"We'll have to make sure that doesn't happen. Sam and I will always be here. Always. Yer never gonna be alone, Dean," he promised, putting his cup down and turning to wrap Dean in his arms. "We'll be right here. Right by yer side and we'll fight together. We're always stronger together than we are on our own."

"I know. But part of me is still scared that light will go back out and I won't be able to find my way back again," he whispered in a soft voice, clinging tightly to Bobby, as he voiced his biggest fear. His breath hitched and his face crumpled, his bottom lip started trembling. "I was reading the symptoms of depression on Sam's laptop, and I was shocked to see how many I had. I didn't realise it was..." Dean shook his head. "I don't want to feel like that again. I can't go back there. It was like I was stumbling around in the dark, while life still carried on around me. I can't fall back into that darkness, Bobby. I-I-I just... I can't."

"Ya won't. Sam and l will always pull ya back out and pick ya back up again. Ya don't need to be scared. We will be that light against the darkness, ya hear me? We'll always guide ya back. But yer stronger than ya think, son."

Bobby pulled away, and held Dean's face gently, wiping the tears with his thumb, before cradling his thin face in both hands. "A part of ya may have died when John did, but what was left was so much stronger." His thumb stroked the bony cheek gently in a loving fatherly gesture. "It'll be a long fight, but we'll win in the end."

Dean looked up at Bobby with a tiny smile lifting up the corner of his lips, even as more tears clung to the ends of his long eyelashes. "Yeah," he whispered as that smile became a grin. "That's why we're called 'Winchesters', because we always win."

Bobby stared at him for a few seconds, and burst out laughing. "Come here, ya freak," he said, pulling him against his chest again, his heart filling with so much love for the young man in his arms.

Dean closed his teary eyes, and relaxed in Bobby's embrace. "The hardest battle I've ever had to fight was with my own mind, body and soul. And that fight is far from over, but with you guys... I can do this. I can finally be normal again."

"Dean, when have ya ever been normal?"

Dean laughed and punched Bobby in the arm as he pulled back to wipe his face. "Hey. I'm as normal as you are."

"Then ya definitely ain't normal," Bobby chuckled.

"Maybe not. But normal is boring anyway. I may be weird, and I may be a freak. My life may be hard, and my life may be crazy... But it's mine, and I'm ready to live it again."

"Good. But I'm glad we're not normal, because if our lives were normal, I wouldn't have met my boys," said Bobby, ruffling Dean's hair. "And I wouldn't trade them for anything."

Dean shifted closer to Bobby as the older man sat beside him, and rested his head against Bobby's shoulder. He sat staring silently at the dandelions for several minutes, before breaking the silence. "A few months ago, I didn't think I had anything to live for. But if there's one thing I've learnt these past few months, it's that family is worth fighting for, family is worth dying for... But more than anything, family is worth living for." He smiled up at Bobby. "You and Sammy taught me that."

Bobby smiled and placed his arm around his thin frame, his cheek resting against the top of Dean's head as they sat together for several long minutes. Companionable silence enveloped them, as the two men were lost in their own thoughts.

* * *

After dinner, Sam went into the living room to watch a documentary he had wanted to watch for days, so Dean decided to go upstairs.

He was at the kitchen door when he was stopped by Bobby who was holding out a jar with several dandelions inside. "Here."

Dean took the jar, and looked at Bobby in confusion. "A jar of dandelions?"

"I was thinking about what we were talking about earlier, about how life can be as fragile as dandelions. So I put the rest of them in a jar," Bobby explained, looking almost shy. "As long as they're in the jar, and have the glass sheltering them, they'll always be protected and safe from harm. Ya can blow all ya want, but they won't scatter anywhere."

Dean looked down at the jar. "It's... I love it."

"Good. But I was also thinking about what ya said about looking as fragile and being as frail as a dandelion. Ya may think of yerself as the dandelion, but think of us as the glass. As long as we're around, yer gonna be safe and we'll take care of ya, and protect ya from anything or anyone that wants to hurt ya. Anything dares to try, they'll have to get through us first."

Dean started blinking rapidly, and stepped forward to hug the older man, who returned the embrace. He closed his eyes and whispered his thanks, including one special word- A name he never thought he would call anyone again. "Thanks dad."

Bobby swallowed the sudden lump in his throat, his eyes tearing up at the simple word. "Yer welcome son," he said, holding him for several more seconds, before pulling away. "I know it's a terrible present, and it's probably not as meaningful as the flask with the picture and the poem, but it's the only way I could think to..."

"It's not terrible," Dean interrupted, shaking his head. "It's great. It's going to sit right beside the Mini-'Pala." He smiled down at the jar like it was something special. It may just be a simple gift, but it symbolised so much and it meant a lot to Dean.

Bobby cleared his throat and wiped his face with his sleeve, trying to regain control of his emotions. "I uh... I better get back out to the garage," he said in a voice deeper than normal. "It's getting late, and I'm still not done."

"Okay. I'll be upstairs out of Sammy's way while he's geeking out with his nerdy documentary."

"Ya know where I am if ya need me."

Dean watched the older man leave, and stayed where he was for a few more minutes, before he turned and walked upstairs to his room.

* * *

Dean was sitting on his bed, playing on The legend of Zelda: A link to the past on the Super Nintendo. He had only started a new game the day before, and he was nearly finished already. He had all the items, and heart pieces and was making his way towards the Pyramid of Power at the center of the Dark World to fight Ganon. After a battle resulting in Ganon's demise, Dean threw his fist in the air and cheered. "Woooo. Take that bitch."

Next Dean decided to play Killer instinct. As Dean chose his character, he stopped on Spinal, the living skeleton of an ancient warrior. Spinal was always his favourite when he was a teenager, he always loved annoying Sam when he used the Skeleport to disappear and reappear behind him. As Spinal, Dean never lost, much to Sam's annoyance.

But as he was about to press the button, the controller fell from his numb fingers, and he stared at the screen. At the image that was too similar to his own right now, okay he didn't walk around naked wearing a red bandanna, with a shield and a sword, but still... The skeletal form reminded him too much of himself, too thin, too bony. A skeletal man.

It was at that moment, that Sam decided to check on his brother to make sure he was okay. He walked into the room to see Dean sitting on the bed, staring at the TV screen with huge watery eyes, like he was in a trance.

"Dean? Are you okay?" He sat on the bed beside Dean, and placed his hand on his shoulder. "Dean?"

Dean's eyes didn't move from the screen as they stared at the figure on the TV, at all the protruding bones of the skeleton warrior. He hated being reminded of what he now looked like, and he shook his head and ran his bony fingers along his own collarbones, and down his own protruding ribs. "I hate the way I look. I hate the sight of my cheekbones poking through my skin. I hate the way my ribs look like they're gonna tear through the skin covering them. I hate the way my collarbones are so prominent, you could pour water into the hollows at each side of my neck and it wouldn't dribble out. I hate it when I lay down and my hip bones stand up like wrongly positioned shoulder blades. And my shoulder blades... they look like I've got tiny wings growing out of my back, or something. I hate it."

Sam frowned worriedly and placed his arm around his shoulders. "I know you do. But as you continue to get better, you'll start looking like the old you. The guy in the picture that's still on the mirror. The guy that always got the girls because of his looks and charm. The guy who was always happy and confident in the way he looked. My big brother."

Dean smiled up at Sam. "Yeah," he whispered, looking once again at the skeleton. "I won't look like him anymore. I won't be a thin, bony skeleton. I'll be me. The handsome, awesome badass hunter, girl magnet extraordinaire."

Sam laughed. "Yeah you will. And I'll be there by your side as a proud little brother."

Dean nodded, his eyes still focused on the TV. Sam followed his gaze and gave him a gentle squeeze. "How about we play Mario for a couple of hours instead? It'll take your mind off it."

"Sure." Dean nodded, and pulled away. "We can pretend to be two awesome brothers, who kick monsters ass."

"Just like real life," Sam said over his shoulder, making Dean laugh. When Sam finished changing the games over, he picked up the other controller and sat back down beside Dean.

As they waited for the game to start, Dean cleared his throat and looked away like he was embarrassed. "Sorry about that. I don't know what came over me. I was okay one minute, and then I saw that, and I..."

"It's okay. After seeing something like that, something that was a little too close to how you look, I'm not surprised you er... had a moment."

"A moment? That's one word for it," he said as he started a new level as Mario. "You read to kick some ass, Luigi?"

"Always, Mario," said Sam with a laugh, watching Dean run and jump his way through the level, shooting anything he came across with the fire flower. "How the hell do you never fall down the holes?"

"Practise. And I'm just that awesome," Dean said as he jumped for the goal, and almost reached the top. "Wooo. Okay, your turn. Try not to fall down the holes."

"Shut up." Sam nudged Dean, and started a new level as Luigi, making sure to press jump as each hole or enemy appeared.

"SHOOT HIM WITH THE FLOWER!"

"I AM SHOOTING HIM WITH THE FLOWER!" yelled Sam, right before he got hit by what he was trying to shoot.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Of course you are. Are you firing blanks again?"

Sam laughed, and elbowed him as Luigi jumped over the last hole, and jumped on a few enemies, before making his way to the end.

They spent the next half an hour yelling and elbowing each other like children, while they continued playing and having fun.

"FLY SAMMY! FLY"

"I CAN'T! I DON'T HAVE THE CAPE! QUIT YELLING AT ME!"

"I'M NOT YELLING AT YOU! YOU'VE GOT YOSHI! EAT THE BLUE SHELL! IT'LL MAKE YOU FLY DUMB-ASS!"

"You'll go flying in a minute. Either off the bed or out of the window," said Sam, making Yoshi eat the shell so he could fly.

Dean gasped, and placed his hand on his chest, his face a picture of shock. "Ooh. Your words wound me, Sammy."

"Whatever Jerk." Sam smiled and shook his head fondly as Luigi and Yoshi ran, jumped and flew easily, eating any enemies they came across until they made it to the end.

* * *

After playing on Mario for several hours, Dean decided to play on his guitar.

Sam went to the bathroom, while Dean turned the Nintendo off and grabbed his guitar. When Sam finished, he smiled when he heard singing coming from their bedroom and followed the sound.

Standing at the door, he watched his brother strum the guitar strings and sing in a soft voice. When he put his mind to it and wasn't messing around, Dean was actually a pretty good singer.

"...Inside my heart is breaking, my make-up may be flaking. But my smile still stays on. Whatever happens, I'll leave it all to chance. Another heartache, another failed romance. On and on, does anybody know what we are living for? I guess I'm learning, I must be warmer now. I'll soon be turning, round the corner now. Outside the dawn is breaking, but inside in the dark I'm aching to be free. The show must go on. The show must go on. Yeah. Inside my heart is breaking, My make-up may be flaking. But my smile still stays on..."

Dean had his eyes closed as he sang, so he didn't notice Sam was standing there. Sam remained quiet until Dean reached the end, and started clapping, making Dean jump.

Dean's eyes shot open, widening in shock as they saw Sam standing there. A blush coloured his pale cheeks as he looked down again, long, thin fingers moving along the strings. "How long have you been there?"

"Not long. You're getting good with that," said Sam, nodding at the guitar as he walked over to join Dean on his bed.

"Thanks. I decided to have a Queen day today. Freddie was awesome, especially with that song even though he was really sick at that time." Dean nudged Sam with a grin. "Wanna do our usual?"

"We haven't done that since we were kids."

"So? You ready?" Dean readjusted the guitar and prepared for the song.

"I don't know if I can remember it."

"Just try. Come on Sammy. Live a little." Dean turned to look at Sam, his green eyes widening, his bottom lip poking out.

Sam sighed. "Okay fine. But if I make an idiot out of myself, I'm blaming you."

"AWESOME!" Dean grinned and started to sing softly. "Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy? Caught in a landslide, No escape from reality. Open your eyes, Look up to the skies and seeee. I'm just a poor boy, I need no sympathy. Because I'm easy come, easy go. Little high, little low. Any way the wind blows doesn't really matter to me, to meeeee."

Dean bit his lip as he tried to get the next notes, nodding along to the tune so he didn't go wrong. He nodded at Sam, who nervously started singing with him on the next verse. "Mama, just killed a man. Put a gun against his head, pulled my trigger, now he's dead. Mama, life had just begun, But now I've gone and thrown it all away. Mama, ooh, Didn't mean to make you cry. If I'm not back again this time tomorrow, carry on, carry on as if nothing really matters."

"Awesome Sammy," said Dean, his fingers finding each note as if by magic as he sang the next part solo. "Too late, my time has come. Sends shivers down my spine, body's aching all the time. Goodbye everybody, I've got to go. Gotta leave you all behind and face the truth. Mama, ooooooh. I don't wanna die, I sometimes wish I'd never been born at all." Dean smiled, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears as he replayed the previous notes. "I don't wanna die," he sang again, closing his eyes as a tear broke free and swam down his cheek. "I love that part."

Sam smiled back, his own eyes shiny. "Me too."

After several seconds, the brothers regained control of their emotions and continued with the song. "I see a little silhouetto of a man, Scaramouche, Scaramouche, will you do the Fandango?..."

"I cannot remember what the hell the next words arrrrreeeee," Sam sang next, keeping in tune with the song.

Dean's lips twitched, his eyes crinkled as his fingers fell from the strings, into his lap. A bubbly sensation built deep in the pits of his stomach and grew bigger expanding inside until he could no longer contain it. He threw his head back, and laughter erupted, exploding out of his mouth, open and loud in the otherwise quiet room.

Sam loved hearing the deep rumble of Dean's laughter, and watched him with a big smile, his eyes blurring with tears, which he quickly blinked away, allowing them to spill over, and cascade down his cheeks. He didn't want to miss a single second of seeing Dean laugh like this.

Dean laughing so happily and carefree was the best sound he had heard in a long time, and the love he felt in his heart for his brother threatened to overwhelm him. There had been many times in the past few months when he thought he would never hear his big brother laugh or ever see his smile again.

Tears of laughter pooled at the crease of Dean's eyes, and he moved his guitar slightly as he crossed his arms across his stomach, where the muscles spasmed with the force of his laughter. He bent over his guitar as he laughed so hard, his stomach and his ribs ached with all the pressure building from his insides. The laughter was so powerful that he would have fallen to the floor if he wasn't sitting down, his whole body was shaking, and the bed was almost vibrating with the force of it.

Sam ignored his tears as he watched in amusement as Dean finally seemed to be calming down from his sudden laughing fit. He would give anything to see him laugh like that all the time, and would do whatever it took to make it happen.

When Dean straightened up again, he looked at Sam. His green eyes were shining, crinkling at the corners, his smile was so big, wide and bright, it was almost blinding, and his freckled nose scrunched slightly, making him look about 5.

"Oh my god. I cannot believe you did that. How can you forget the words to Bohemian Rhapsody? It's a classic."

Sam shrugged, still feeling emotional from watching Dean lose himself in his laughter. "I can't remember every single word to every single song I've ever heard."

"But it's not just any song, it's one of the best of all time. By the way it's, 'Thunderbolt and lightning, very, very frightening me'."

"Yeah, I knew that," said Sam, his eyes shifting to the side.

"Of course you did," said Dean with an eye roll, his fingers once again ready to play. "Right, are you ready to continue?"

"I think so." Sam shifted, so he was once again sitting shoulder to shoulder with Dean, before nodding to show he was set to continue.

The brothers voices joined together to sing in unison or solo. Their bodies swaying, shoulders bumping together as the song came to a close.

"...Nothing really matters, Anyone can see. Nothing really matters, Nothing really matters to meeee."

As their voices drifted off, they turned to each other with identical grins. "Woo. That was awesome."

"Yeah. We sounded pretty good," agreed Sam. He sat staring at Dean, whose entire face was transformed with happiness, which seemed to shine from inside him like a beacon.

His expressive eyes, which had been filled with a dull, haunted look for so long, carrying so much guilt and sorrow, was completely gone and now seemed to be sparkling with delight and joy, the green shining like emeralds, bringing colour to his usually pale cheeks.

As he watched Dean smiling happily with a rare genuine smile, a light dancing in his eyes that hadn't been there since John died, Sam was suddenly overcome with emotion and threw his arms around Dean. His face was nestled into the curve of Dean's neck as he held him tightly, cherishing the feel of his big brother alive and happy in his arms.

"Whoa. Are you okay, Sammy?" asked a worried Dean, moving away from the edge of the bed after Sam's sudden hug attack nearly threw him off the bed.

As Sam hugged Dean, he could feel his ribs, spine and shoulder blades even through his layers, it felt as if the bones were sitting directly beneath the fabric of his shirts, with no flesh at all in between. It almost felt like he was hugging a bag of bones, but he could feel Dean's pulse against his cheek, and could feel him breathing against him. Which meant Dean was still there with him, he was safe, alive and even more important than that he was getting better, and that meant more to him than anything else.

Dean was still surprised at his reaction, and awkwardly patted him on the back. After several seconds he felt the wetness on his neck, telling him that Sam was crying, so he wrapped his own arms around Sam and finally returned the hug, trying to offer comfort to his obviously emotional brother. "It's okay Sammy."

After a few minutes, Sam finally let go, but kept one arm wrapped around Dean's bony frame as he wiped his face with his hand. "I missed you smiling and laughing like that. I just... It's been a long time."

"Yeah," Dean said quietly, looking down at his bedside table, at the jar of dandelions sat beside the Mini-'Pala. "It feels good. It's been too long since I felt... happy." He turned back to look at Sam, a tiny smile curling up the sides of his mouth. "I feel happy, Sammy."

"Good. If you're happy, then I'm happy. If anyone deserves to feel happy, it's you."

"Despite having a moment earlier today... Right now, I feel as close to happy as I've felt in years. Probably since I was a kid." He shook his head in wonder. "I didn't think I would ever feel this happy again, I didn't think I deserved to. Now I know that dad would want me to be happy, and for months I pretended to be okay, I smiled to hide the sadness, laughed to hide the tears." Dean's fingers strummed the strings on his guitar, and he smiled as he remembered his birthday. "I felt pretty happy that weekend at the cabin, I felt good. But right now... I feel the happiest I think I've ever been. And it feels amazing."

"It feels amazing to me too. To see you smile like that, to hear you laugh in such a carefree manner. I didn't think I'd ever hear it again. You've laughed a few times in the past couple of months, but that was the first real laugh I've heard, the kind where you laugh with your whole body, the kind where it explodes out of you in a burst of pure joy. It wasn't forced or fake, it was real and loud, open and boisterous and was the best sound I've ever heard."

Dean grinned at Sam, and shifted closer to his side. "There's plenty more where that came from. You up for some more singing?"

"Sure, why not? I'm sure my terrible singing will make you laugh plenty," Sam joked, nudging Dean's shoulder with his own.

They sang various songs including 'We are the champions' and 'I want to break free'. Dean hadn't learnt all of the songs on his guitar yet, he wasn't sure what notes to play at the moment, so he played in the tune of the songs until he came to one he actually knew.

Dean smiled, his long fingers strumming the strings in a familiar tune he had been learning recently.

"Ooh, you make me live. Whatever this world can give to me. It's you, you're all I see-eee. Ooh, you make me live now Sammy. Ooh, you make me live. You're the best friend that I ever had. I've been with you such a long time, You're my sunshine. And I want you to know that my feelings are true. I really love you. You're my best friend..." Dean looked at Sam as he sang the last words, as if he wanted Sam to know how true the words were.

Dean sang solo during this song, but Sam always joined in on the words 'You're my best friend', while grinning at Dean.

"...Whenever this world is cruel to me, I got you to help me forgive. Ooh, you make me live now Sammy. Ooh, you make me live. You're the first one when things turn out bad. You know I'll never be lonely, You're my only one. And I love the things, I really love the things that you doooo. You're my best friend..." Dean nodded at Sam, who finished the song.

As the song came to an end, they sat grinning at each other, their expressions saying more than words could. Before they could get pulled back into another 'chick-flick moment', Dean started moving his fingers in another song- This one always guaranteed to make them laugh.

"When the outside temperature rises, and the meaning is oh so clear. One thousand and one yellow daffodils begin to dance in front of you. Oh dear. Are they trying to tell you something? You're missing that one final screw, you're simply not in the pink my dear. To be honest you haven't got a cluuuue..."

As they continued singing, Bobby came into the house, and heard them laughing and walked upstairs to watch them having fun together. His heart warmed in his chest as it filled with love for the pair of them as they sat side by side, shoulder to shoulder, swaying from side to side. They hadn't even noticed him coming into the room, they only had eyes for each other as they laughed and sang in unison.

Tears swam in Bobby's eyes as he watched Dean laughing like he didn't have a care in the world, the huge smile on his face made him look like a child, he looked so happy, and Bobby didn't think he had ever seen anything so beautiful in his life.

This was what Bobby meant earlier- Without the Winchesters, his house really was just an empty shell, but with the presence of his beloved boys, who were more like sons, his house really did become a home. They were the ones who filled the house with happiness and laughter, cheer and singing, joy and love, like they did as children.

"...I'm knitting with only one needle, unravelling fast its true. I'm driving only three wheels these days, my dear how about you? I'm going slightly mad, I'm going slightly mad. It finally happened. It finally happened, oh yes. It finally happened. I'm slightly maaaaaad! Just very slightly maaaad!"

Bobby was chuckling to himself by the end, shaking his head fondly as he watched them act like the two overgrown kids they never were, the look in his eyes was the same as any proud father.

Yeah, his boys probably _were_ slightly mad, but they were the ones who made life worth living.

And he wouldn't change them for the world.

Right now, there was nowhere else he would rather be, nothing else he would rather be doing.

Everything was as close to perfect as it could possibly be.

Dean was slowly recovering, his boys were safe and happy, and they were back home where they belonged.

And Bobby wouldn't have it any other way.

He would be right there every step of the way, and he knew that if either of them fell, he would always be there to catch them.

Because that's what real fathers did.

***The End*  
**


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